


Prelude

by HornedSerpentNine



Series: Veela's Omen Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alfā/Gamma/Delta + Epsilon Dynamics, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Content is based on majorly the books, Dumbledore isn't right in the head, F/F, Grey/Dark Hermione, I have to admit to some Dumbledore bashing, Magic dictates everything, Minister Riddle AU, Multi, People are more pragmatic, Veela Hermione, Veela control more than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HornedSerpentNine/pseuds/HornedSerpentNine
Summary: It's baby Hermione and her first 11 years of life!





	1. Normalcy With A Pinch Of Spice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter, nor do I own any lore I found in the Wiki pages/Pottermore.
> 
> My wonderful Beta is Rencae!  
Also, I use Google Translate,  
Also-Also, I attempt to upload on/around Saturday (Eastern Coast time)  
Also-3x, All comments and suggestions are welcome! (I always reply back!)  
Also-4x, I have a VOC Companion series (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580833)  
Also-6x, This is my first fic.  


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroine is born!

Magic is born on a fateful starry night. So many of the celestial bodies twinkled, filling the usually bland sky with thousands of lights. The news is all abuzz, and people exit their homes to stare at the natural phenomenon. However, a young couple are unaware of this, and will smile when they would read of the “_Million Star Reflection_” in the papers the next morning.

They have matters more pressing at the moment.

On Wednesday 19th, September 1979, a satisfied nurse assists a new mother in giving birth. The couple; having returned to England after their vacation a day prior; are in a state of bliss. They smile with awe and great joy as their baby takes her first breath. Jean Granger holds her precious baby girl close, and the nurses invite a proud John Granger to see his new daughter.

The girl in question opens her eyes, blinking at the first light she has ever seen. Those amber-brown eyes land on her parent’s adoring faces. They coo and babble to her in their strange sounds that her new born mind can’t comprehend, but she is already certain that they love her unconditionally.  
After a few hours, the doctors give the green clearance to the new parents, the family of one Hermione Jean Granger go home.

* * *

In southeast England, in Heathgate, Hampstead, Granger’s street, a baby’s laughter can be heard. It’s a quaint little neighborhood, a four point cross of roads with houses along the sides, and a church at the top of the street towering over all.

“Mhhhhaaa!” Baby Hermione babbles, calling for her Mummy. Jean, upon hearing her one year old baby in the next room, races over, and promptly freezes in the doorway. Hermione’s giggling, and _floating_ right under the ceiling fan, small, bird wings fluttering weakly from her back. Jean’s mouth drops, and she slowly walks towards her daughter.

Hermione laughs, twirling in the air, seeming to get around by doggy paddling. She slowly flaps in descending circles, settling on the floor. Her baby wings fold in, then disappear into Hermione’s skin. Jean drops to her knees, staring at her smiling daughter. Jean watches in shock as her daughter’s eyes fade from a goat’s cross-pupil green to their normal color.

Reaching out to take Hermione in her arms, she begins to sing a song her mother sang to her. John Granger comes home to hear his wife singing again. Smiling, he sets down his keys and coat, takes off his shoes, and goes upstairs to see Jean and Baby Hermione in the middle of the nursery. Jean turns to him with wide eyes.  
“John, you might want to sit down.”

* * *

John doesn’t see his daughter perform her abilities until a few weeks later, as Hermione only likes to show Jean. John was in the kitchen making two cups of tea, while Jean laid on the couch, catching a brief respite from being a new mum. Hermione started calling, and Jean groaned.

“I’ll take care of it, you just rest dear,” John said comfortingly, setting the cups on the kitchen table. Taking the stairs two at a time, John tripped at the top. His arms pinwheeled, and his mouth opened to yell, but someone caught him. John looked behind him, but saw no one. About to call out to Jean, he saw Hermione, not even fourteen months old, staring at him.

John looked down, and with a jerk, he realized he was floating. An almost exasperated sigh brought his attention back to Hermione. To her glowing, golden eyes. John felt himself float to the top of the stairs, the invisible force setting him on his feet.

“John, how’s Hermione? Why is it quiet?” Jean called up, and at once, he believed.

* * *

The Grangers keep a close eye on Hermione’s abilities after John’s experience, writing them down meticulously with the date, time, duration, and of what occurred. Jean, taking her daughter’s abilities in stride; and secretly overjoyed that her Hermione is extra special; starts teaching Hermione lessons of control and secrecy in the form of bedtime stories. However, one day, the innocent feel of Hermione’s abilities shifts a bit.

Jean and two year old Hermione are out in the garden, and John’s working at the dentistry.

“This is a shovel, shuh-vull,” Jean says slowly, and Hermione’s face scrunches as she tries to make the sounds.

“Ssshuuuhhh-gguuuul,” Hermione gurgles, and Jean smiles, cooing. The Grangers; by no means geniuses, but not stupid either; strongly believe that intelligence will get one far in the world. No age is too early to start learning, hence the early lessons.

Hermione discovers she loves learning new things, especially from her Mummy. Now, in the garden, Hermione’s Mummy is making her happy sounds, but Hermione wants her Mummy to be even happier.

‡_Ssshuuuhhh-gguuuul!_‡ Hermione hisses, looking up to see her Mummy’s confused face.

‡_Ssshuuuhhh-gguuuul!_‡ She hisses again, and Mummy opens her mouth to making a noise, when another beats her to it. Both female Grangers’ heads snap up, looking across the garden where a small, black snake pokes its head from the bushes. Her Mummy immediately gathers Hermione in her arms, moving away carefully.  
The snake, while small enough to her Mummy, could easily harm Hermione, but Hermione knows he won’t.

‡_The proper way to sssay the Ssspeaker word isss ‘ssshovel’, hatchling,_‡ he hisses helpfuly, and Hermione nods. Her Mummy backs up faster when he starts hissing, and he starts slithering forwards.

‡_Sssshhhooooopppp!_‡ Hermione hisses at the snake sharply, and he stills, bowing his head at the order. Hermione turns to her Mummy, who startles upon looking into her child’s eyes. Hermione can see them reflected in the black part in the middle of her Mummy’s eyes. Replacing her usual amber-brown color, two bright red snake eyes stare at her.

‡_Sssss!_‡ Hermione hisses wordlessly, surprised. Her Mummy frowns slightly. Hermione looks down at the snake, waving at it as her Mummy takes them quickly back into the house.

‡_Bbbbyyyyhh!_‡ Hermione hisses, then looks at her Mummy. In those reflections, Hermione can see her eyes are normal.

* * *

The day three year old Hermione starts daycare, she immediately wants her Mummy and Daddy back.

“Mummy! Daddy!” She cries, saying the only two words she knows clearly and loudly.

“It’s ok dear, you’re going to be fine, try to have fun and make friends, alright?” Her Daddy says.

“John,” Her Mummy sighs, but she too leans forwards and places a tender kiss on Baby Hermione’s forehead.

“**Nous serons bientôt de retour, d’accord? Ne pleure pas ma puce, essuie les larmes de ton joli visage. Tu vas te faire plein de copines avec qui jouer,** [We’ll be back soon, ok? Don’t cry baby, your face is too pretty for tears. You know, maybe you’ll find kids to hang out with,]” Jean whispers to Hermione in French.  
Hermione whines but nods, and the Grangers turn her over to the staff. She keeps quiet when the adults talk to her kindly, showing her to a wild room full of children. Hermione blinks, staring owlishly at the barely contained chaos. Wrinkling her lips, she decides that she doesn’t want to be with such kids. Her Mummy told her that she gets associated with the people she spends the most time with.

A shriek and laughter draws the only adult in the room towards the two girls pulling a doll between them. Hermione unclenches her skirt from her tiny hands, hurrying over to the almost empty drawing table. Sitting down, she looks at the small black boy smearing a blue crayon in a black outline of a bird.

“’Ello,” Hermione says, and the boy looks up.

“’Lo,” He replies.

“Waz zat?” Hermione points to his drawing, and he holds it up proudly.

“Boo-jaw!” He says smugly. Hermione hums. The blue mess is more like a spiderweb than a bird.

“You name?” She asks, and he ducks his head.

“Harold.”

“Harold?”

“Yaw.”

“Me Hermione.”

“Uh,” Harold trails off, unsure how to say her name.

“You name . . . Me make?” He asks, and Hermione finds she doesn’t really mind.

“Zure?”

“Ah . . . Looch?” There’s a pause between them both, Harold’s cheeks starting to tint pink. Hermione isn’t sure she likes that, actually.

“Yaw . . . You now Bloo-jaw!” She says, looking down at his “bluebird”. He giggles, looking down at his drawing. Suddenly out of nowhere, a plastic smacks into Harold’s forehead. He cries out more in surprise than pain, rubbing the red spot. Hermione whips her head around, seeing a larger, older boy standing on top of the indoor play set.

“Loser!” He hisses, just soft enough that the teacher can’t hear. Harold looks down, his shoulders hunching. The large boy slides down the plastic slide, striding over towards them, a mean look on his face.

“Loser draws bad!” He sneers, ripping the paper from Harold’s grasp.

“Too bad for your Mummy!” The large boy laughs. Hermione narrows her eyes.

“Go now.”

“Me bad, Looch,” Harold whimpers, and the bully holds Harold’s drawing over his head. Smiling cruelly, he rips it in half. Then, the large boy goes flying, screaming as he slams against the opposite wall. The teacher is immediately at his side, trying to figure out what happened. The two halves of the paper float down to Hermione’s hands, the seams smoothing together again. She hands it Harold, who has a gobsmacked expression.

“You sun-eyes!” He whispers in awe. Hermione blinks, and she somehow knows her eyes are back to normal. Their attention is directed to the large boy’s yells, pointing accusingly at them while he cradles his stomach protectively. Hermione adopts an innocent look, shedding confused tears in the teacher’s direction.

“Looch, me make boo-jaw,” She hears Harold say softly, and she turns back to him. He looks down at his bluebird, taking deep breaths. Nothing happens at first, then the blue color start to move on the page. Hermione stares at Harold in shock, as he looks up, his electric blue eyes seeming to sparkle.

She sticks out her hand.

“You-me, Bloo-jaw?” He smiles, and takes it, both of them feeling a jolt of energy when their hands touch.

“You-me, Looch.”

* * *

  
Word of Hermione taking down the biggest bully in daycare spreads rapidly, and soon, she’s the most popular child there. It turns out Harold; the scruffy, black haired and skinned boy with those exotic, electric blue eyes; is a month younger than she is. He looks a lot younger due to his short stature.

She’s followed around by a moderate gathering of kids, all of them hanging onto her every word. The teachers find it adorable, Hermione tolerates it, and Harold loves the deference the other kids show him. She watches him practically bloom when a shy child speaks Harold if she can join their group.

Hermione thinks she can grow to like this.

* * *

  
“Hermione! Stand still please!” John says exasperatedly.

“But Harold iz waiting!” Four year old Hermione exclaims, and Jean chuckles. Even though Hermione’s grasp on the English language has improved, her lisp with any word with an ‘s’ has not. John jokingly claims it’s Jean’s fault for teaching their daughter French, but Jean knows its because of Hermione’s snakes.

Jean rubs her eyes when she recalls the first snake encounter. Since then, the same snake has come back two times, while a whole slew of random serpents come to hiss with their Hermione.

“Why are you so eager, do you like him?” John teases, and Hermione rolls her eyes, giving John a well practiced side glare. When Hermione grows up that look will most likely become lethal, Jean thinks.

“Da—ddy!” Hermione sighs, stretching out the word into two syllables.

“He’z my beztfriend!” Hermione snarks and John laughs, seeing his daughter’s huffy expression. They leave, and Jean’s left alone in the Saturday morning. Her happy and contented smile slides off her face, and she straightens herself. Grabbing her car keys and purse, Jean drives off towards London.

Navigating the streets, Jean pulls up in a relatively empty parking lot. Stepping out, she takes a deep breath to calm her nerves, and strides into the dinghy looking building. Inside, a wave of cool air hits ber face, and she blinks. Jean doesn’t stop, walking purposely through the main lobby, only women passing her in this part of the wing.

After taking the lift the top, and finding the simple looking office door, she knocks. A serious looking woman opens it, beckoning Jean in. The room is sparsely decorated; with a whole mirror covering one entire wall, and the huge, ornate, house crest carved from a collogue of marble covering most of the back wall.

A simple metal chair faces a deep redwood desk and matching wooden throne in the middle of the room. The rest of the wall-space is made of the purest white marble, veins of grey accenting it, while the ceiling and floor the deepest black marble, reflecting fuzzy images of the appliances in the room.

The woman pulls out the wooden chair, and Jean sits in it nervously.

— . —  
In concerns to the translations; [example]; it’s basically like an aside to you as the readers, but for the purposes of this work the characters aren’t _really_ speaking directly to you all. Also, if the POV are only/thinks they’re around others who speak a language the POV knows, words are **English Bolded**. If POV are only/thinks they’re around others who doesn’t speak a language POV knows, words are **Language Bolded**. Foreign names and familial titles are not bolded outside those guidelines.


	2. Normalcy With A Pinch of Spice Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little loyal Hermione shan't stand for bullies of any sort at any age.

No matter how many times she comes here, the bloody metal chair never fails to send bolts of terror through her. Once she’s situated, the woman leaves the room, turning down the lights. Jean is thrown into an oppressive, gloomy grayness, silent and heavy. She struggles to keep her breathing under control, when she hears a voice right behind her ear. She can’t help herself; she flinches.

»How are you Jean?« She can’t help but duck her head, eyes trained on her shoes. She doesn’t move an inch, least she anger the powerful woman.

»Not well Mistress . . . Something’s come up,« Jean replies.

»Tell me,« the Mistress orders calmly. Jean twitches, and takes a deep breath.

»There were four attacks in the last week. They are getting more daring, Mistress.« Jean replies. The Mistress says nothing, and Jean forces herself to be completely still under the burning scrutiny. After what seems like days, the Mistress speaks.

»Is my daughter secure?«

»Yes, Mistress,« Jean keeps the sudden spark of defiance and anger at the Mistress claiming _her_ daughter in such a way. A yelp escapes Jean’s mouth before she can clamp her jaws shut—and her head pounds from the smack.

»Then you need not worry about such trivial matters, only of your mission,« the Mistress says in a matter of fact tone, ignoring Jean’s slip up and subsequent chastisement. Jean forces herself not to let her eyes follow the reflection on the wall of the Mistress waving her hand dismissively.

»You have not spoken of your thoughts of my daughter,« the Mistress states, and Jean nods, unsure where this is going. Even after all this time, she’s still just as blind to the Mistress’ every move as she was when she first met the woman.

»Hermione is doing well. Top of her class already,« Jean can’t help but smile with pride when she speaks of her daughter. _She_ was the one—not the Mistress—who helped her daughter to that higher standing.

»Of course she is. I expect nothing less of my daughter . . . I suppose a proper introduction is in order. Now, onto more important matters,« The Mistress’s words sink in like cold stones into her, and Jean trembles.

»Yes, Mistress.«

Jean waits, looking up to the mirror in front of her, still keeping her gaze low. In her peripheral vision, she sees the Mistress make a gesture. The mirror in front of them shimmers, and then disappears, revealing a whole extended part of the room. A pitiful excuse of a creature lies huddled in a corner, dressed in ripped, soiled clothes.

»An easy snap, consider it a treat for all your previous hard work—« The creature lets out a pained whimper, its eyes staring at them. The Mistress must have lashed it for hours before Jean arrived.

»On second thought, elongate it,« The Mistress orders, her absolute tone has Jean standing in front of the filthy creature. Its cries and pleas turn to screams and sobs as she slowly breaks its ribcage, tears trapped in her eyes.

* * *

“Happy birthday, Lurch, tooooooo yoooooooou!” Harold sings to a newly five year old Hermione. Smiling at her best friend, she checks to see if her parents are still in the living room, setting up one of her gifts.

“Hey Bluejay, wanna zee zomething cool?” She whispers, and he nods excitedly. The two children are in the dark kitchen, a small cheesecake with five candles stuck on the top between them.

“Yeah!”

She smiles, and then turns back to her cake. Closing her eyes briefly, when she opens them, they’re glowing, goat-green. Blowing softly, the candles flicker, growing taller and longer. Hermione’s hair starts to stand on end, almost resembling a mane. The room lights up from the candle flames, the fire lazily swaying like blades of seagrass in a current.

She glances over at Harold, giggling at his slack jaw and wide eyes. He grabs her hand, both of them feel the jolt of energy, and the flames bloom in size.

“HERMIONE!” Both of them jump, the fire exploding in a blast, raging. Her Mummy screams, and her Daddy races into the kitchen. The fire spreads to the ceiling, still powered from the candles. Everyone except Hermione are yelling. Everyone except Hermione are yelling. Her Daddy sprays the fire extinguisher, the fire alarm is ringing, her Mummy tries to convince her to turn off her ability, and Harold is cowering with a blue light flickering about him.

Her eyes are the size of moons as they take in the chaos around her, she finds it surprisingly beautiful. Hermione sucks in her breath at the thought, and all the flames siphon in twirling whirlpools back to the wicks of the candles. The four of them stare at the normal, flickering candles, and then at Hermione. Her eyes are amber-brown once more.

“_Wicked_,” Harold whispers.

* * *

The next day, Hermione and Harold enter primary school. Hermione, already a quite brilliant child for her age; her eidetically memory assisting her; easily takes the top marks as the best student in their class with Harold vying for second place. Of course, the other children dislike her for this reason. They call her the “Teacher’s Pet” and other rude names.

Hermione brushes off the other children’s pettiness, as her only concern is if Harold will bow to the peer pressure and leave her. So far, he hasn’t. Settling into the mundane routine of school, a year flies by. Interestingly enough, Hermione starts to rise higher in the ranks of social hierarchy. She figured out that if she appeals to the natural need for a leader, someone to look up to, they will willingly follow.

It also helps that she can get anyone a lessor punishment if she so wishes to, since the adults see her as the model student. Teachers and parents alike adore her, and Hermione hooks them with only a smile and twinkling amber-brown eyes. Utterances such as; “She’s just such a cute child”, “Hermione would never do anything like that”, and “A very helpful girl” simply serve to further her own standing.

No one crosses her or her own, or they get what they deserve. And no one crosses Harold. He’s always been Hermione’s constant companion, and they enjoy doing everything together. The adults find this adorable as well.

When Hermione was walking past the teacher’s lounge yesterday, she overheard some of them joking that Harold and she looked like they would end up marrying each other in the future. She frowns at herself, waving off Harold’s questioning look. They’re in the library, she reading _Hamlet_ and Harold _The Winter’s Tale_. Their small radio softly plays their favorite song, ‘Time In A Bottle’ by Jim Croce.

She turns the page, but her mind is still on what the teachers joked about. Hermione grimaces at the thought of _marrying_ Harold, and settling down in this small town and having children. Hermione shakes her head, repulsed.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, shutting his book. She sighs, and shuts hers.

“I waz thinking how dizguzting boyz are,” she says, and he makes a face, and Harold frowns slightly.

“Hey, I’m not gross,” He exclaims.

“You’re not grozz, but the rezt of them are,” she agrees. The bell for break ends, and they scamper back to class.

* * *

It’s Hermione’s sixth birthday, and she’s brimming with excitement. Her Mummy and her Daddy promised that their gifts this year will be one to remember, and she can’t wait. At school, Harold keeps on sending her smirks, refusing to tell her what he’s getting her. Latching onto his arm, she pouts, and his cheeks turn red.

“Come on Bluejay, just a little hint?” She whines, tilting her head to look up at him since she’s rather on the short side.

“Uh, er, here!” He squeaks, thrusting a red card into her hands. She grins up at him.

“Thanks Bluejay!” She smirks, and he blushes again. The rest of the day goes by as normal, and Hermione wonders how soon she’s allowed to graduate due to her advanced studies. After school, she and Harold are walking along their usual path home, when a shout pierces the serenity. They turn, seeing the infamous trio of hulking brutes.

“Well if it isn’t the pair of freaks, what are you doing near here with us normal people, freaks?” The lead boy sneers. Hermione rolls her eyes, turning and walking away. Harold is quick to follow. Dudley Dursley the Pig and his minions are the resident pranksters and meanest boys in this neighborhood. Fortunately, she lives in a better, smaller neighborhood.

“Oi! Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!” Dursley shouts, stomping after them. One glance at Harold, and she can see his tense body, his eyes wide with fear. Pivoting on her heel, she stands tall even as Dursley’s momentum carries himself right up into her personal space.

“What are ya, deaf? You listen to me when I tell you freaks something,” Dursley sneers, looming over her. Hermione can hear Harold’s erratic breathing, but he’s at her side.

“What are you gonna to do to me, huh, freak?” His minions laugh, as if that’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

“Make you actually think for once,” Hermione scoffs. Dursley laughs, but then Harold speaks up.

“Y-you’re gonna to wish you never angered Lurch!” Dursley’s face turns sour at Harold’s words.

“Listen here, you disgusting _fag_—” The rest of his sentence is cut off, his words strangled. His eyes start to bulge, and he grasps his throat, his face turning red. His minions shuffle confused and increasingly frightened, as Dursley starts to thrash, struggling to breath. The minions cry out in alarm as Dursley slams to his knees, keeled over, his face now purple, and gagging noises spluttering faster.

Hermione looks up at the minions, and they scream, running away.

“Lurch,” Harold says uncertainly, tugging at her sleeve. She looks over at him, and he sees her cross-pupil eyes glowing purple. Without even looking, she releases Dursley from her hold, hearing his large gasps of air.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asks Harold, putting a hand on his arm. He gives her an easy smile.

“I’m alright.”

She nods, and then turns to face Dursley, who’s slumped on the pavement in front of them, almost catatonic.

“I don’t need my so called _freakiness_ to shut you up,” Hermione growls, and kicks Dursley in the stomach.

“Never come near us again,” she orders, then turns away, taking Harold with her.

* * *

“Guess what I’m going to give you today for your seventh birthday,” Harold excitedly asks for the ninety-third time today. They’re walking together as usual back home.

“Something red,” Hermione giggles, and Harold blushes.

“Yeah,”

“Strange isn’t it? A _Bluejay_ that likes red?” Hermione teases. Harold mock pouts.

“Well, at least I’m taller than you, _Lurch_,” He teases back. They part ways at their usual stop. Harold lingers for a bit, Hermione stopping to look back at him.

“Hey Lurch,”

“Yes Bluejay?”

“Thanks,” he says. The ‘_for being my friend_’ goes unsaid, but Hermione can hear it all the same. They raise their hands at each other, and they both see the evening air shimmer between their fingers. An instant later, the familiar jolt of energy shots up their arms. Lowering her hand, Hermione smiles to herself.

“What are friends for?” She muses, and continues on her way. Walking alone, she makes her daily stops at the numerous homes of her snake companions. It’s dark by the time she arrives at her last pitstop. Crouching down by the hole in the fence, she croons softly. A little green snake pokes her head out, flicking her tongue in greeting.

‡_Isss your blood ssstill cold?_‡ Hermione hisses the traditional greeting.

‡_Very ssso. What of you?_‡ The snake hisses back.

‡_Sssame asss ever. Did you catch any prey today?_‡

‡_No, the human wasss working in the garden all day. I had to protect my nessst,_‡ the snake flicks her tongue frustratedly.

‡_Do you need to move to a new one?_‡ Hermione asks, and the snake contemplates it.

‡_Yesss, I have already scouted a better placcce,_‡ the snake hisses, slithering back into its hole. Hermione looks around, tosses her backpack over the fence before climbing over it. Landing on the other side, she opens her backpack, moving her school things to the side. Scurrying over to the snake’s nest, she peers down the hole.

The snake appears at the entrance, looking at Hermione’s backpack warily.

‡_Your eggsss will be sssafe. Believe in me,_‡ she hisses. Focusing, Hermione breaths in, and the snake slithers out as the clutch of eggs float out. If the snake’s eyes could widen, they would. Every egg is encased in a warm golden glow, settling gently inside the backpack. Even then, the glow doesn’t fade.

‡_Let’sss go to your new nessst,_‡ Hermione hisses softly, and the snake nods. The snake darts to the back yard, slithering under another hole in the fence. Hermione climbs over that fence, this time more carefully. Landing on the other side, she sees the snake has waiting in the middle of the road, waiting for her. Hermione walks quickly towards her, when she hears the sound of a car fast approaching.

Breaking out into a sprint, she grabs the snake just as it flies by, the sound of blaring music and yells accompanying it. Hermione yelps, her body twisting, and she slams onto her shoulder. The snake is besides herself with worry for Hermione and for the eggs.

‡_Don’t worry about me, the car mussst of jussst clipped me,_‡ Hermione hisses, getting to her feet. The snake and she spend the next five minutes laying the eggs into the new nest, the snake promising to tell her clutch of Hermione’s assistance in the relocation. Nodding, Hermione smiles, climbing the fence once more.


	3. That Night And After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreadful things are happening, and who is this woman?

Even though it’s well into the night, Hermione arrives at home before her parents. She unlocks the gate, and fishes for the spare key hidden in a crack in the bottom of their flower pot. Holding it up to insert it into the lock, the pressure pushes the door open a bit. Hermione freezes. Her parents have _never_ in her life left the door unlocked or open.

Instantly, her instincts flare. Carefully, she pulls off her backpack, holding it by the strap, the key in a death grip. She has two options, call the police, or go find her parents. She hears a low thud, and Hermione’s slipping through the door before she realizes she does it, and—

* * *

—suddenly she’s drowning in a void of sick looking purple membranes almost like a haze, blinking in and out in random spots. Black smears spear through deep burgundy red splotches as well. Above it all, a man’s maniacal laughter echoes shrilly, and underlying the chaos, an eerily soothing melody, haunting her. Hermione comes to the swaying of her body as she flies, or is she falling?

She can’t be sure.

Blinding colors flash everywhere, dancing across her already impaired vision. Strange city noises bombarding her, shrill sounds, roaring sounds, and everything in between. Cold touches come and go, as she feels weightless. The sound of children’s laughter ring, making the other noises dull down. The familiar rocking of a swing brings Hermione somewhat back.

But she fades.

* * *

Hermione’s sore. No. That’s wrong. She’s hollow. Opening her eyes, Hermione takes in . . . A room . . . She thinks. It’s earthen packed wall are painted with all types of fruit, vegetables, and crops. Weirdly enough, it’s calming. An oval window to her right shows only the sky from her angle, and Hermione shifts.

She winces when she gets her elbows propped up, and she looks over to see a flap covering what must be the door way. By her bedside, is a small table with a single vase with three flowers, and a woman. Hermione jerks to attention at the sight of the stranger, her limbs freezing. The woman continues to stare at her, making Hermione uncomfortable.

The woman’s beauty is absolutely godly, almost etherial. Dark, burgundy-red hair is pulled up into a tight bun on the back of her head, showing off her slim, but powerful neck. Even sitting, Hermione knows the woman is ridiculously tall. Those long legs accented by the expensive looking suit shows her slim body, and doesn’t bother hiding the muscles.

The stranger blinks with her one burning, bright amber-blue eye. It seems to scorch Hermione’s skin. The woman’s defining feature is the bone-white mask molded to the right half of her face. Yet unlike a normal mask, this one has no eyehole. Hermione’s eyes track the mask down to the woman’s jaw, cataloguing the deeply scarred flesh that flows along her neck, and towards her shoulder.

However long the burn continues is mystery, for the rest is covered by her suit.

“Forgive me, dear one, I am Alfā Etoilnaiphaz Mendonica,” the woman says in a deep throaty voice, her words touched with a purring French accent. She stretches out her hand, and Hermione takes it automatically out of ingrained courtesy etiquette. She glances down at the right one, staring at the unblemished, smooth skin.

“May I azk your name?” The long-and-soft-sounding-named woman asks. Hermione doesn’t say that’s one of the weirdest names she’s ever heard. Most of the time no one can pronounce her name and that’s Shakespearian.

“Hermione,” she murmurs, the hollow feeling that had been pushed at bay at the woman’s appearance trickles back to the fore. Hermione looks down, her hand slipping from Etoilnaiphas’s.

“Hermione, my scales and wings go out to you and yours,” the woman says, laying her hand on Hermione’s. Her skin seems hotter than it was before. Hermione looks up at the woman, the hollowness in her chest threatening to bring her to tears. Without prompting, Etoilnaiphas stands, leaning forwards as she gathers Hermione in her arms.

Hermione’s heart flutters, but then settles, and she relaxes into the embrace. She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the suit, daintily smelling the woman’s scent of roasted smoke over a fire on the fibers. The cavity in her doesn’t care this is a stranger, it greedily takes in any comfort it can.

Hermione jolts a little when long, pointed nails making small circles through her hair, messaging her scalp. Etoilnaiphas gently rocks them, humming low in her throat. She tilts her head to lay it over the woman’s heart, listening to its beating. It’s a calming thing, distracting her from her emptiness in her chest and mind.

Her mind is surprisingly slow of her usual ever-present surge of burning questions.

“Can I call you Eto?” Hermione whispers, and she feels the vibrations of Etoilnaiphas’ chuckles resonate throughout the woman.

“Yez, dear one, you may,” Eto agrees. Hermione nods, just concentrating on matching her breathing to Eto’s heart. The woman is deceptionaly a lot warmer than at first touch.

“Hermione, do you want to go zomewhere elze?” Eto asks softly. Hermione shrugs.

“Sure,” she yawns, and Eto strokes her back.

“Hmm, perhapz we zhall eat az well,” Eto murmurs to herself. The woman carefully shifts Hermione in her hold, her head now against Eto’s shoulder. She opens her eyes. The view from this height is a bit staggering to her. Eto starts walking, her heels clicking as they exit the earthen room into blinding white.

* * *

Hermione flutters her eyes, adjusting to the soft, natural light. She’s still looking down, and first hears the methodic hum of strange sounds swirling around them. She can smell different incense wafting lazily through the air. She doesn’t hear any rough male voices though.

“Look up, Petit Présage, [Little Omen,]” Eto murmurs, Hermione’s ears pricking up when she recognizes French words. Hermione does, blinking when she sees she’s in a shop of sorts. It’s like one of those Victorian herbal shops she once visited while in the countryside.

The bare, wooden beams have vines wrapped around them, drying herbs hanging, and flowers dotted all over the place. The startling thing was, there are _only_ women here; stunningly beautiful women; and not a single boy to be seen. That in itself wouldn’t be so weird, but looking out the window, Hermione can only see more women.

One of the women locks gazes with Hermione, and she smiles brightly. She walks over to them, and Hermione leans into Eto, nervous all of a sudden. The woman starts cooing in another language to Eto, tones of French sounds perk her ears, but the words are anything but. Hermione tilts her head, trying to place the language, when more women come over.

She ducks her head, blushing at all the attention, hearing a chorus of _aw’s_. The emptiness in her shakes, clenching her aching body, and feelings of _undeserving_ and _helplessness_ fill her. Eto says something in the language, and the women slowly disband, each of them waving goodbye to Hermione.

“What did they want?” She whimpers to Eto.

“Zey wanted to meet you, Petit Présage [Little Omen], you are important to them.”

Hermione doubts that.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Becauze you are,” comes the simple reply. Hermione frowns, but drops the topic. It seems she wouldn’t get clear answers out of Eto just yet. The woman walks over to an empty chair.

“Hermione, what do you remember from zat night?” Eto asks, going back to stroking Hermione’s hair. She almost has half a mind to demand a question for a question, but those fingers are distracting. She casts her mind back, but winces when a sharp pain lashes in her skull. Her mind skips over, and she recalls moving the nest for the snake.

“Nothing,” she whispers. Eto says nothing, but holds her tighter. It’s better not remembering it anyway.

“You were alone in our forest, bloody and bruized.”

Hermione takes in the information, oddly fascinated about her supposed past. The hollowness expands, and Eto continues.

“I took you here; it iz one of our bezt healing centerz; where you have rezted for the lazt five dayz.”

Hermione’s eyes jerk up to Eto’s one.

“Five? Who are these ‘our’ you speak of?” Hermione demands, leaning forwards. Eto smirks a bit.

“I zpeak of uz, you, me, every women in ziz zity. We are of magic, Petite Présage [Little Omen], it runz in our veinz, it iz our lifeblood,” Eto’s eye burns brighter when she speaks. Hermione blinks up at her, and finds herself nodding. She can only sense the truth in those words. Besides, what else could explain all the weird things she’s done?

* * *

Hermione is led out of the store by Eto, holding onto the woman’s hand tight. Out in the street, her eyes widen. The emptiness takes a step back inside her. It looks like she’s stepped back in time into a cleaner, perfect Medieval city; with the neat compact cobblestone roads, wooden and stone buildings, and fresh air. Eto lets her take a breather before they start walking; Hermione’s head on a constant swivel.

They pass beautiful women of all kinds, speaking all kinds of languages, although most are speaking the one she heard in the healing center. Yet not a single male. Suddenly the sound of high winds makes her look up, and she gasps at the sight. A group of girls zoom overhead—on _wings_. Now Eto’s oddly phrased apology makes sense.

Eto smiles.

“Zat happenz everyday here,” She drawls. Hermione cranes her neck to see where the flying girls are headed, but they disappear from her sight.

“‘_Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings,_’” She quotes softly, a smile tugging at her lips. They keep walking, and wherever they go, women young and old stop to wave or smile at Hermione. She ducks her head at the warmth they shower on her freely. They enter a sort of plaza, with stands set up along the edge of it.

“Why is everyone . . . So touchy?” Hermione asks when a gaggle of young girls race by to touch her arm. Eto smiles softly.

“Like I zaid, you are the Petite Présage [Little Omen], you are important to them,” Eto answers vaguely without actually answering. Hermione scrunches up her nose.

“What did I do?”

“You have a lot of questionz.”

“And _you’re_ evading the answer.”

Eto barks out a laugh, drawing a few curious looks from the women in their vicinity.

“**I call you that because you’re the first one to summon a Veela, something none have done before successfully,**” Eto answers in French, her eye on Hermione’s.

“‘**Summon a Veela?**’” Hermione echoes. Eto tilts her head, birdlike almost.

“**Yes.**”

Hermione tries to remember anything about Veela, but comes up with a blank.

“**Where to now?**” Eto smiles at this.

“**Now, we visit The Gate.**”

* * *

They walk through the city, Eto showing Hermione it’s wonder and brilliance. Now that she is looking, Hermione can see the little tells that parts of the city is built for winged people. A landing pad there, a seemingly inaccessible house, and absolutely no railings anywhere. At the edge of the city, Hermione realizes it’s nestled inside a giant basin of a valley, the outer parts rising along with the slope of the mountain range around it.

But on this slope, there’s an large opening to a giant cavern, stalagmites hanging high above the mouth. It’s ominous opening brings forth her own hollowness. Hermione cranes her neck up to look at the formations as they walk under them, heading into the cave. Still holding hands, Hermione focuses on not tripping as the cobblestone degrades into rock.

Though she finds she really doesn’t care if she does. As they maneuver around stalactites, going deeper into the cave, the natural light starts to fade, and a hard fiery-blue light starts to appear. Hermione turns to look over at Eto, blinking owlishly when she sees it’s Eto’s eye that’s glowing. It turns to her; the pupil harshly outlined by the eerie light.

Her emptiness shakes her body, and she presses against Eto’s leg for warmth.

“**We are here,**” Eto whispers in a respectful tone, her words bouncing on the walls, turning into a low, lingering hiss. Hermione looks into the blackness, unable to see anything. Then, two amber-golden eyes appear, and Hermione stiffens. They bob slightly, slowly drawing ever closer and closer.

Then, the creature’s form is revealed under Eto’s fiery-blue light. The cavity in her thumps hard, nearly toppling Hermione. A humongous, golden form stares down at them from it’s height nearly brushing the stalagmites. Eto sweeps into a low bow, and Hermione instinctively lowering her eyes. A rumble shakes the air, vibrating around the stalagmites.

_I see you, Soul of the Fallen, the Little Omen._

Hermione jerks her head up when she hears a deep drum-like voice in her head. Her eyes meet the apex male lion, finding them similar to herself. Intelligent, with a hidden hole behind those wise eyes. In that moment, Hermione isn’t stiff anymore, and she relaxes. The hollowness eases a little.

Unnoticed by Hermione, her eyes swirl golden, and her scent changes to match his, the male Neapolitan Lion’s instincts urging him to protect the young cub. Eto looks down curiously. The lion leans down, his large nose delicately huffing over Hermione’s head, sniffing her. Another rumble echoes from the lion’s chest, and a large, barbed tongue sticks out, and licks Hermione gently.

Wincing at the stinging, she keeps still as the lion lowers his head more to look her in the eyes. Hermione’s hand moves on its own accord, reaching out and stroking his forehead. The large amber-golden eyes smolder, and a loud purring sound escapes his maw. Hermione continues to stroke warm, soft, silky fur.

“I see you,” Hermione repeats, leaning forwards to touch her forehead against the lion’s. The lion purrs again, and rises his head, still holding her gaze.

_I, the Sun Beast Gate, welcome you into the Colligation,_ The Gate rumbles, then turns away, back down into the darkness of the deep.


	4. Birds Of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. Guess she's got a new family.

Hermione and Eto stand there long after The Gate has departed. The cave walls seem to grow colder, the emptiness in her growing again, untempered by the shared pain in The Gate’s presence. Hermione feels like something fundamental has changed in her.

“**Eto?**” She murmurs, hearing her voice bounce around them. The woman hums.

“**What am I?**” She asks like a prayer, her voice whispering around her. Eto squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“**A miracle born to those who Magic never touched,**” there’s a pause. “**The Wizarding people will title you: ‘Muggleborn’.**”

“**Muggle? Is that a derogatory term?**”

“**No, just a point of perspective.**”

“**And you . . . You’re a Veela?**” Hermione asks, and Eto smiles.

“**_Yes_.**”

* * *

Eto carries Hermione out of the cave and into the night where stars wink and space dust flow. Hermione looks up, a sense of her own insignificance in the world growing in her. She’s never seen this many, for the ambiant light always blocked most of the celestial bodies. The hollowness in her expands leisurely, filling her with calm fear.

“**The passage of time flows differently you when you visit The Gate,**” Eto supplies, stopping. Hermione narrows her eyes, trying to find a familiar constellation.

“**Where are we?**”

“**Somewhere in Russia.**”

“**Russia?!**”

“**The Gate moves the Colligation around to his whim.**”

“**Oh,**” Hermione says, unsure how to respond to that. “**Why have we stopped?**”

“**I must fly us to my house, are you ready Little Omen?**” Hermione gulps at that. She never really liked heights, and the cavity in her infiltrates her shaky hands. As if sensing her growing trepidation, Eto gives her a calming kiss to the forehead.

Hermione gasps when she sees wings twice the length of Eto’s body emerge from her back. She reaches out to touch them, tilting her head when she feels their hardness. Then it clicks. Each “feather” is actually a white-blue scale, but with many downy-grey feathers protruding from under each scale.

Each scale is the length of Eto’s bicep, and each feather is longer than her forearm and hand combined. Hermione traces her finger along the bone, feeling the scale-feather’s lightness. Eto shuffles her wings, spreading them out. They’re arranged similarly to a shape that of a bat’s wings. The wings rise, and with a powerful down thrust, they’re spiraling up into the air.

* * *

The wind whistles around them, the lips of the valley protecting them and the city from the true brunt force of the fierce winds. She seems to have left her hollowness down on the ground, for exhilaration fills her. Hermione can’t seem to close her eyes, looking at the lit city below. Even into the night, the city bustles with life, the sounds of women going about their lives wafting up.

Hermione can also really see the magnificance of the Colligation. Spires, huge towers, roosts, and jutting balconies are the most common structures littered throughout, with the buildings in all shapes and sizes. Most are round in some way, and all are huge, some even leaning at precarious angles, defying gravity.

To the sides, outlined by the stars, Hermione sees nothing but desolate mountain peaks, and snowy wilderness. There are more flying women at this altitude, most in groups. Eto flies confidently, banking them towards the outer edge of the city. Slowly coming down, Hermione sees a rather large house built into the side of the valley ridge.

Pulling up, Eto flares out her wings out, their flight halting. Eto touches down smoothly, folding her wings tight behind her back as the doors into Hermione’s new life open.

* * *

Inside is gorgeous. The place is made of seven wings, all stacked on each other to make up the house named the Mendonica Palace. The Veela woman points out each of the wings from the first floor to the top; Pole, Sun, Moon, Vulcan, Blood, Star, and Roost Wings. Eto takes her through a brief tour. The Pole Wing is full of grandeur, meant for guests, with the extravagant Waiting Hall, the Kitchen, and the bottom floor of the Library.

The Library itself is a special case; situated in the middle of the house, it opens to every floor in a huge cylindrical space. An free space of balcony rings every floor, which connects to each respective floor. All except the fourth; Vulcan Wing. Once more, there’s no railing or staircase.

In the Library, are shelves upon shelves of books, even in the middle of the room. Chairs shaped for wings dot around here and there, and windows let in natural light. Then there’s the Sun Wing, where many of the studies are, including Eto’s office. The Moon Wing mainly boasts the Dining Hall.

The Vulcan Wing has the Traitor’s Well, a place that deepens Hermione’s own emptiness. The Blood Wing has the Potions Lab and the Infirmary. The Star Wing is where the bedrooms and guest rooms are, although all of them are empty. Then there’s the last floor, the Roost Wing, where Eto’s room is, the Look Out, and, now Hermione’s room.

It’s a comfortable roundish-square chamber, with a four-poster bed on the opposite side of the door. A soft carpet covers the floor, stopping at the edge of the double doors leading to the balcony protruding out of the mountain itself. There’s a few oddly shaped chairs, a reclining chair, a walk-in closet, a desk, and a quaint bedside table.

“**Why is that empty?**” Hermione points to the book shelf near the balcony doors.

“**For you to store your private collection, even from the Library if you wish,**” Eto replies. Hermione looks around once more, then up at Eto.

“**What’s your job?**” Eto smirks.

“**Madame of the Mendonica French Cadre.**”

“**Is that why everyone was nice to you?**” Hermione asks as Eto leads her to the bed.

“**I suppose, although a leader is not always their title.**”

“**You said French Cadre, does that mean there are more of them?**” Eto laughs, smiling down at Hermione. She feels the softness of the bed.

“**Yes, but before I tell you more,**” Eto snaps her fingers, and two, small creatures pop into existence. They have tiny, long wiggling ears, large bulbous eyes, and hooked noses.

“**What are those?!**” Hermione exclaims, not knowing whether to be disgusted or weirded out. The two creatures jump at her voice, staring at her in shock. The one closest to Eto is holding a newspaper called the _Quotidien Français_ [_French Daily_].

“**This is One,**” Eto voice pulls her focus together, taking the newspaper from the creature called Un. It bows low to her.

“**And this is Two. They don’t speak English very well if at all,**” Eto sums up, her eyes glancing at the newspaper.

“**Um, Eto, what _are_ they?**” Hermione tries to be firm about her question. Eto looks up.

“**They are House-Elves. In return for providing work, shelter, sustenance, they willingly work for us,**” Eto explains, and the House-Elves nod.

“**Isn’t that . . . Forced labour with fancy words?**” Hermione asks carefully, but Eto waves her hand dismissively.

“**Oh no! We’s House-Elves collect the magical residue or magical excess naturally released off of magicals through our’s skins to eat! We’s need the work from magicals live, and we’s like cleaning!**” Deux squeaks.

“**Two here is currently unbonded,**” Eto starts.

“**Unbonded?**”

“**Not linked with another’s magic, now as I was saying, he’s been looking for a bonded,**” Eto looks at Hermione expectedly, and it dawns on her.

“**You want to bond him to me?**”

“**Oh Mistress Mendonica, are you's going to bond Two with Young Miss?!**” Un squeaks excitedly, looking over at Hermione with big eyes.

“**What does being bonded mean? Other than the binding of magic? Is it permeant? Will it tie me down?**” Hermione demands, not wanting to dabble in something she’s so new to. Eto smiles approvingly at this.

“**It simply means that Two will obey you and only you. Should you call, he will hear and answer. Yes, it is permanent, but it shall not harm you nor him, and it will not tie you down,**” Eto answers. Hermione turns to the shivering, hopeful House-Elf.

“**I accept, but I’m calling you Cobra.**” Hermione states.

* * *

Going to sleep in her new room is a strange experience. Unasked questions run through her head. Why does she trust this Veela woman, a stranger? Why hasn’t she asked how she summoned Eto, if that was the truth. Why even though she still feels a bit hollow does being with Eto feel just right? Or more importantly, why does being surrounded by magic assuage her hollowness?

Hermione rolls in her bed, trying to sleep. Turning on her back, she raises her hand up. Rolling her fingers in the air, she feels magic pulsating around her. Slowly, magic starts to gather, and a shape from golden strands starts to form. Hermione keeps rolling her fingers, her goat eyes glowing green.

Her magic forms the shape of a large bird with a small beard. It flies around her room, before settling on her bed. It bows its head before dispersing into thousands of glittering sparkles. Hermione smiles at the sight, as they rain down on her, making her sleep.

* * *

Cobra wakes her in the morning, brimming with a hyper energy that reminds her of an untrained puppy. It keeps her hollowness at bay.

“**There’s a special ceremony Mistress Mendonica is planning! We’s must get Young Mistress ready!**” He squeaks. So Hermione lets him whirl around her as she brushes her teeth with the provided bathroom supplies. She lets him help her into a simple white shift with a black sash tied around her waist.

“**Young Mistress looks so beautiful!**” He squeaks, looking up at her. Hermione looks to the side, mumbling her thanks. She’s unused to this constant praise. Cobra then takes her by the hand, leading her through the quickest ways down to the Vulcan Wing on the fourth floor. Upon approaching, Hermione hears strange, female voices.

“**Mother, enough with this pretense; if you’re going to force Marigold down the Well—**” An angry spitting voice hisses.

“**Settle your feathers, I am not,**” Hermione hears Eto reply.

“**Then what am I here for, if not that for me or my family?**” Another, calmer female voice asks.

“**Who is your human?**” The first voice demands, and Hermione jerks at being caught eavesdropping. Cobra gulps, terror on his face. She motions him to stay. Taking a silent breath, Hermione walks into the dark room. The whole floor is open, built from black stone seems to suck in any light.

At the far end, is jagged, circular-ish hole that spans across most of the back wall. One that drops down into silent darkness. Two etherial beauties stand next to Eto, staring at her with wide eyes. Whatever they thought, Hermione is certainly not what they expected. They’re both nearly as tall as Eto, but not quite, but Hermione can see the family resemblance.

One has pale amber-blue eyes, dark red hair, long legs and stunning complexion, and smells like the sand before a storm. She’s wearing an scowl that shifts between angry and unamused. She must be the first voice’s owner. The other is taller than the first by only a few centimeters, but she sports the same build as the first.

Her vibrant, fiery red hair is cut short, the ends hanging messily in front of her deeper colored eyes than the first. She smells like raging fire over stone. By the slight widening of their noses, Hermione knows they’re appraising her.

“**Mother, who is this?!**” The first woman exclaims. Eto merely rolls her eye.

“**Hermione, this is Marigold and June,**” Eto introduces them. Souci waves at Hermione, smiling gently. Juin just scowls.

“**What am I doing here Eto?**” Hermione asks, looking pensively at the Well. At this, Eto smiles.

“**We are going to perform the Blood-Claiming.**”

* * *

“**_You’re what?!_**” Juin roars, her whole body stiff with pent up fury. Souci frowns, casting a narrow-eyed look at Eto.

“**What is _that?_**” Hermione demands, and both the other women’s eyes widen at the tone.

“**Simply, I want to legally bind you into the Mendonica family,**” Eto says, her eye staring into Hermione’s.

“**Why?**” Hermione mumbles to herself.

“**Perhaps Mother is keeping you from outside forces,**” Souci muses.

“**Were you planning this the the whole time?**” Hermione asks Eto. She tilts her head.

“**No, but I’m committed to it now,**” she says. Hermione’s decision is simple, and she agrees. Eto leads her to the edge of the Well, then takes her left hand. Brushing her fingers against Hermione’s palm, she repeats it again. On the third time, her nails sharpened, slicing the skin open neatly. Her emptiness sharpens.

The blood seeps up, filling Hermione’s palm and sends dizziness straight up to her brain. Hermione sways, only Eto’s hand holding her up. Her emptiness bubbles inside her, shaking in anticipation. Eto slices her own hand, and threads their fingers together.

Their palms press against each other, and Hermione’s knees buckle. As she starts to succumb to the dark, she vaguely hears Eto chanting something, heat blooming in her heart, traveling through her body.

Her cavity.

Then nothing.

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror the next day, Hermione ignores Cobra’s happy squeaking. Her once bushy hair that was so large that if floated around her shoulders is now luscious, dark ringlets with lighter brown streaks spread throughout. Here and there, are streaks of deep, brown-red. Her overbite is fixed, her teeth pearly white and straight, her facial features sharper and more angular.

Her body seems thinner, more delicate looking. Although, the biggest change is her height, having grown at least several dozen centimeters. Most importantly, her emptiness is gone. She tunes into the Cobra’s chatter when she hears two names.

“**Oh Mistress Mendonica has invited the rest of the family over to stay to meet Young Mistress!**” Hermione looks down at the House-Elf.

“**I** **know, Marigold and June are staying in their old rooms,**” Hermione replies, leaning forwards to look at herself again in the mirror.

“**Oh not them’s Young Mistress, Cobra means the little ones!**”


	5. Presentation Is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione learns what it means to be an Alpha

Hermione stops inspecting her perfectly white and straight teeth.

“**What little ones?**” Cobra beams at her attention, handing her a new outfit to try on.

“**The daughters of Mistress Heiress Mendonica and Lady Châtillion of course! Cobra hasn’t seen the daughter ofLady Châtillion, but the twins of Mistress Heiress Mendonica are so beautiful!**” Cobra babbles, and Hermione stills. The implications of being claimed into the family never hit her until now.

* * *

Cobra tells her that every woman in the Colligation are talking about her, and the infamous Mendonica reunion. The rest of her new family are scheduled to arrive in a week’s time, and Hermione’s using that deadline to acclimate herself to her new body features. Walking with Cobra around in the Library, she stops when she feels something.

Hermione turns to face a wall. Cobra stops squeaking, looking up at her curiously.

“**Young Mistress?**”

“**Do you feel that?**” Hermione asks, taking a step forwards. Cobra pricks his ears, the shakes his head.

“**Cobra doesn’t feel what Young Mistress is feeling, but he’s wonders what she’s feeling,**” he squeaks. Hermione doesn’t answer him, but reaches her hand forwards. Suddenly, she’s surrounded by cold, and in a dark place. Hermione blinks, turning around. The walls are the same as the ones that make up the Vulcan Wing, but the lines where the stones lay stacked glow an eerie blue.

Hermione can see her breath before her. She’s alone in a corridor, black at both ends. Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione starts walking before her blood freezes. Her thin slippers click on the stone, the sound ringing in her ears. Hermione pauses when the ringing changes tone. Taking another step, she gasps as she almost falls forwards.

There’s a steep staircase leading further down. A chilly draft breathes up into her face, tussling with her hair. A glowing orb starts to bob towards her, and a sense of calm and safety washes over her. Eto takes the last step, standing before Hermione, looking down at her. Hermione looks up, seeing her blue eye shines harshly with white.

A soft cold breeze blows against Hermione’s legs. Eto sighs, and her eye turns back to blue again.

“**The next time the Crypts invites you in, let me know,**” Eto orders, her voice brokering no argument. Hermione nods shakily. Eto takes her hand, and they turn to walk the way Hermione came, the wind at their backs.

“**This place knows you now, do not fear that,**” Eto murmurs. “**But do not let down your guard in it,**” and then they’re back in the Library.

* * *

Eto stays close to her from then on, taking her out to go on walks through the Colligation. Hermione clings to Eto, bombarding the Veela Alfā with questions about the city. The rest of the week flies by like that, and soon, Hermione, Cobra, and Eto are waiting in the Pole Wing for the family to arrive.

The first is Juin. She arrives with a beautiful woman a head shorter next to her; brown hair, brown eyes, a runner’s build, and a happy glow about her. The brunette smells of rosemary in spring daylight, although something foul covers most of the scent. Hermione switches her gaze to the two girls behind the women.

They’re identical, and likewise as beautiful as their mothers are. Both have light amber-green eyes, and are taller than Hermione. The left one has soft brown waves of hair, and the scent of new paper in coldness. The right has blond hair in a single braid down her back, and the scent of thyme with morning dew.

The twins stare back at Hermione with interest. They both make small sniffs in her direction, their eyes lighting up. One smells muted while the other doesn’t, though Hermione doesn’t know why. They walk in sync towards her, sitting on either side of her on the couch. The adults are busy involved in their own conversation.

“**Hello, I’m Annie—**” the unmuted smelling girl starts.

“**—And I’m Claire,**” the muted smelling girl finishes.

“**I’m Hermione,**” she replies, eyeing how elegantly they wear their expensive looking dresses. The twins smile.

“**So you’re the new daughter—**” Claire says.

“**—do you know who’s the breeding partner?**” Annie interrupts. Hermione furrows her eyebrows at the term.

“**No?**” She phrases it as a question. The twins merely give her curious looks.

“**What’s a breeding par—**”

“**Petite Présage, c’est Elise, elle est une sorcière de sang pur d’Angleterre,** [Little Omen, this is Elise, she’s a British Pureblood witch,]” Eto says to Hermione, who perks up. This is the first witch like her that she’s seen. She turns over the term ‘Pureblood’ in her mind, concluding that this witch has Wizarding parents, a ‘pure’ lineage. These thoughts race in the seconds that Hermione raises her hand to shake it with Elise.

“It’s nice to meet you Elise. I’m Hermione,” she says, her English sounding a tad weird to her ears after speaking French for the last month. Elise’s face brightens when she hears Hermione speak, and suddenly she’s swooped up in a tight up. Hissing, both Hermione and Eto look disgruntled when she’s set back down on her feet.

“Reztrain yourself from throwing her about, if you would,” Eto sighs, and Hermione sees Juin’s mouth tighten. There’s an uneasy tension in the air now, and fortunately the doors open once more. Souci, a tall man, and a small girl walk in. Souci takes a single sweep of the room and sighs.

“Maman [Mother], eef ziz eez noght to work, juz zay ze word and we zhall all leeve,” the woman says in a thick French accent. The man steps forwards, and Hermione’s a bit spooked. She forgot what a male presence could do to a room. He’s tall, almost the same as Souci, but his slicked over, dark brown hair makes him a bit shorter.

There’s a white streak in the front. His light blue eyes scan the room, and his posture doesn’t hide his strong muscles and body. The girl hiding behind her father’s leg looks older than the twins, with dark amber-brown eyes, long, curly, strawberry-blond hair, and the scent of cherries on bark.

Hermione doesn’t realize she is still standing until the twins pull her down onto the couch again. The girl’s cheeks redden, and she looks away from Hermione. She takes another sniff of that scent, it is alluring and brings an odd pull from her. It feels weird, and Hermione’s not sure if she likes it or not.

“**Vous avez masqué un Alpha?!** [You masked an Alpha?!]” Souci bellows, her calm stripped away in concern and protectiveness of her daughter.

“**Sortez-la,** [Get her out,]” Eto orders, and suddenly Hermione’s view is obstructed by Eto’s face.

»Listen to me,« Hermione blinks when she hears Eto’s voice in her head. She isn’t speaking French or English, but rather something other. It’s like she and Eto are communicating through a metal tube together.

»Yes, just like that, look at my eye, focus on me, not the Omega,« Eto murmurs, but at the mention of the girl, Hermione looks away.

»No.«

* * *

Hermione’s voice rings in her head, through that mental tube between them. It shocks all of them except Elise and the man. It appears that the mental tube has holes, and everyone can hear her thoughts from it. Hermione blinks, coming back to herself. Eto merely stares at her hard, head tilted.

“We zhall convene later at lunch,” Eto dismisses, and the twins leap off the couch, the adults slipping away. Although Juin lingers for a second, her eyes flashing from Hermione to Eto. Then she’s gone. Hermione lets out a breath.

“**What was that?**” Eto settles down on the couch next to her.

“**Velian, the secret language of the Veela.**”

“**You never explained to me what a Veela is. You’re one, and now I’m partly—**”

“**There are no ‘part’ Veela. You are a full blooded Veela,**” Eto corrects firmly.

“**What _are_ Veela?**” Hermione presses, and Eto tells her. They’re a magical species of extremely beautiful females only. They are blessed with three Gifts from the three faceted-Goddess Rozanica, whom they all worship. The first Gift is the Cursed Fire, the second the Thrall, and the third Gift the Mate. The Goddess also bestowed upon Veela’s the nature of presentation.

“**Presentation?**” Hermione interjects. Eto nods.

“**Take what just happened; you smelled the Omega, and your body reacted naturally.**”

“**What did Marigold mean about ‘masking an Alpha’?**” But Eto waves her off.

“**She thought I was deliberately hiding you, although I had not expected you to present as Alpha so soon after the Blood-Claiming, but you do have my ****blood,**” Eto trails off, looking down at Hermione.

“**So, is this Alpha-Omega thing going to be a problem?**” Eto shakes her head.

“**Not if you teach yourself not to react.**”

“**Can you teach me?**” Hermione asks in a small voice, and Eto pulls her into a hug.

“**Of course, Little Omen, I will.**”

* * *

Hermione steers clear of the Omega, whose name she learns from the twins is Abby Châttillion. Her Alpha mother eloped with an Italian Alpha who wasn’t her Mate, bringing shame on the family. So Souci was disowned, hence why she’s been living in Florence, Italy. However, since Juin is an Alpha, and married herOmega Mate, she’s still legitimate.

“**It’s really weird seeing Aunt Marigold here with Abby—**” Annie starts.

“**—Grandmother hasn’t let her come back since forever,**” Claire finishes. They’re in the Look Out, lying on their backs. The Look Out is a turret that juts out of the mountain top. Its spiral staircase opens up to a round stone pavilion, the column beams holding up a simple pointed roof. Hermione’s starting to wonder the safety that these Veela implement.

“**Anyway, this is a good thing for us—**” Claire starts.

“**—time off from Beauxbatons—**” Annie cuts in.

“**—possibly getting the family back together,**” Claire finishes, reaching over Hermione to jab Annie in the side. The Alpha twin huffs.

“**Beauxbatons?**” Hermione asks.

“**Yeah, Beauxbatons Academny of Magic, French school—**” Annie starts.

“**—you’re probably going to go there too, how old are you?**” Claire asks.

“**Seven,**” Hermione replies.

“**You’d be starting in a year then! We’re in the last preliminary year—**” Claire starts.

“**—****you have to start out there until you turn eleven—**” Annie says.

“**—though she _could_ go to a different school—**” Claire muses.

“**—Mum went to Hogwarts—**” Annie explains.

“**—that’s for the United Kingdom—**” Claire adds.

“**—we visited once, the castle was way bigger than the chateau—**” Annie says.

“**—Mum was a Hufflepuff—**” Claire says.

“**—that’s one of the four Houses there—**” Annie says.

“**—and it’s also run by Alpha Headmaster Dumbledore,**” Claire says, and the twins share a look.

“**What’s wrong with him?**” Hermione asks. Annie shrugs while Claire sighs at the same time.

“**Well, he’s always been a bit disliked in France—**” Claire starts.

“**—for sending Beta Newt Scamander to Paris and all that—**” Annie says.

“**—not to mention he never seemed right in the head after his duel with Alpha Gellert Grindelwald—**” Claire says.

“**—he’s still a brilliant wizard, up there in power—**” Annie says.

“**—but his decisions aren’t really the sanest,**” Claire says.

“**Who’s Gellert?**” Hermione asks, absorbing the new knowledge.

“**He’s a dark wizard who became a Dark Lord—**” Annie starts.

“**—who almost succeeded in having the Wizarding people rule the world and not hide who they are—**” Claire says.

“**—Mum compared him to Hitler, using something called Social Darwinism—**” Annie says.

“**—but Mother liked the idea of not hiding who we are, but he’s probably dead rotting away in an unknown prison,**” Claire yawns.

“**But if the prison is unknown, how do we know he’s dead?**” Hermione doesn’t like inconsistencies, especially if it pertains to something as bad as this Alpha.

“**Well, it’s nineteen-eighty-six, so he’d be in his hundreds—**” Annie starts.

“**—which is getting up even for Wizarding standards,**” Claire replies. With another yawn, the Beta makes them go back down to the twin’s room.

* * *

Hermione settles into her life as a Mendonica fairly smoothly. With the house filled with people, it seems to come alive, and Hermione swears that objects move appear and disappear. She learns that Souci’s husband is Federico, an Italian Auror. Something akin to the police-slash-government-lackey she concludes when he described his job to her.

Abby is always never where Hermione is, which makes her grateful, yet at the same time annoyed. Eto still takes her on their walks, but now Hermione prefers them to be in silence. Walking around the Moon Wing, she sees Abby fly by on what looked like a broom. Taking her chance, Hermione pushes open a pair of balcony doors, stepping out onto the perilous landing.

Narrowing her eyes, she sees Abby circling high above her head.She’s been with Eto to help her not go all weird over just sniffing the Omega, and she wants to get to know Abby. Hermione wants to let the girl know she’s safe to be around. She hears a pop, and Cobra is there, an odd looking broom in his hands.

“**Here Young Mistress! Your _Comet 260!_**” He squeaks helpfully. Hermione takes it, holding it awkwardly.

“Oh! Here, that’s the wrong grip,” Hermione turns to see Elise heading her way. The Omega woman helps her mount the broom.

“This thing can really fly?” Hermione asks, and Elise nods.

“Please, retired International Quidditch player here; it can fly.”

Hermione frowns at that.

“Retired?” Elise gives a tight smile.

“Apparently Omegas can’t be professional players, but I was only demoted to Senior Quidditch Correspondent for the Daily Prophet.”

Hermione tilts her head at Elise.

“Why do you smell so bad then?” At this Elise laughs.

“What you’re smelling is Juin’s Mating Bond, although it’s probably not as bad to you than someone not family,” Elise explains. Hermione nods, and preparing herself, she takes off with nary a sound.

* * *

Flying on a broom is very different from with Eto. With her, the winds seemed to dance with her, letting her play with them. On a broom, Hermione has to fight to stay in the air, no matter how graceful it may seem. Lifting her head, she scents the air for the Omega. Leaning to the side, she turns the broom around, when suddenly a shadow passes over her.


	6. Transformations Galore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione frees her wings!

Looking up into the bright morning sky, Hermione jerks to the side as Abby plummets down, a musical laugh following her. She doesn’t think to doubt herself; she dives after Abby, staying in the Omega’s wake. She studies Abby’s posture; copies it, and notices her broom fly a little faster. They weave around in the sky, Hermione grinning as she pulls up next to an equally grinning Abby.

They fly around each other, chasing each other in the sky. They pull next to each other again,sharing a laugh. Hermione teasingly pushes Abby’s broom, making the Omega scoff. With her face turned towards Hermione, Abby does’t see the fireball headed in their direction. With a wordless yell, Hermione grabs Abby’s hand, jerking them downwards.

The Omega screams as she’s ripped off her broom, and Hermione looks back to see her broom tail has caught fire. Closing her eyes, Hermione kicks off her broom. Snapping them open, her eyes turn golden, and her hand holds onto Abby’s tight as they brace for impact.

* * *

Hermione first becomes aware of the gravity not clawing at her stomach. A shrill whimper sounds from under her, and Hermione fumbles, sinking in the air. The sound of heavy beating and her back on fire makes her look up. She’s bobbing in the air, one hand still holding onto Abby. Hermione groans in pain, feeling that her back feels too heavy.

A sharp pain of something bending the way it shouldn’t shoots up her back. Hermione hunches her shoulders, and suddenly the weight shifts to her whole body, evening out. She looks down at Abby, the Omega’s expression turning to one of awe.

“**Your wings,**” Abby whispers, her French heavily influenced by Italian. Hermione looks over her shoulder, and gasps. They’re roughly a half-a-meter longer than her height, the same thin, light scales as Eto’s. Each scale is a mix of onyx-black and blood-green, with vicious looking rage-amber feathers underneath each scale.

In the light, her wings ripple with the sheen of pulsating fire in darkness. They pump the air, keeping both of them aloft. Forcing her back muscles to relax, the wings flap a bit easier. Grinning, she feels the new muscles on her back, and stretching them, she imagines it’s just like her shoulder.

With a powerful push, they’re climbing into the sky, Hermione grabbing Abby’s other hand. Souci, and Juin appear, swooping around their heads, their wings out. Hermione watches them, and her wings unfurling, spreading out wide with a snap. She hands Abby to Souci, the Omega curling up comfortably in her mother’s tight embrace.

Looking at the sight, Hermione finally identifies the weird feeling. It stems from love, but of the familial, overprotective kind. To keep the Omega close and safe. Souci zooms off back to the Mendonica Palace, while Juin hovers in front of Hermione.

“**Not bad for your first flight,**” Juin says. “**Of course I also did’t grow a tail with mine,**” she muses, and Hermione jerks her head, trying to look over her wings.

“**What? Where?**” In her sharp turn, a pain shoots up her wing, and it stiffens. Wincing, she yelps as she lists to the side, and Juin catches her as darkness beckons.

* * *

After Hermione wakes up in her own room, she sees the whole family is there. She’s lying on her front, her wings folded against her back. Eto cracks a smile when she sees the wings.

“I zank you, ’ermione, for zaving my Abby,” Souci says, her arms hanging loosely but protectively around the Omega’s shoulders in question. Federico nods as well, a tight smile on his face.

“**Filles, renvoyées,** [Girls, dismissed,]” Eto orders, and Abby, Annie, and Claire leave. As soon as the door shuts, Juin speaks.

“Are we going to talk about it finally?” She nods to Hermione, and she sees something flick in the corner of her eye. She turns her head, jerking when she sees an actual tail resting next to her. Reaching her hand warily towards it, she touches the soft, fur. Her tail has the same colors as her wings; all dark, mixing colors, with the same amber color tuff.

“How doez it feel?” Eto asks, and Hermione looks up at the five adults.

“Like it’s a part of me,” she says in English for Elise’s sake. Federico nods, his thumb stroking his collarbones thoughtfully.

“**J’ai vu une telle magie une seule fois auparavant,** [I have seen magic such as this only once before,]” Federico says in a heavily Italian accented French, Juin translating for Elise. The Alpha man doesn’t speak a word of English. Eto merely raises a eyebrow at him, not bothering to speak to him. Federico wisely looks away from her eye.

“**Une sorcière britannique est venue étudier à l'étranger, elle aussi avait un penchant pour transformer des morceaux d’elle-même, en parties animales.** [A British witch came to study abroad, she too had a penchant for transforming bits of herself into animal parts.]”

Juin translates to Elise.

“Well who was she?” Elise asks anxiously. At this, Souci answers.

“Zhe ’hent by Tonkz, and zhe waz an Auror Candidate at ze time. No doubt zhe iz an Auror Trainee by now.”

Elise’s eyes go wide, and her mouth forms an “oh”.

“What is it Elise?” Juin asks in a soft voice. Elise looks at Hermione in shock.

“I might be wrong, but if I’m right, there’s a chance Hermione might be a Metamorphmagus.”

* * *

It’s been a day since Elise’s revelation, and two since the errant fireball from a pair of arguing Veela triggered Hermione’s wings and tail. Which, by the way, have not gone away yet. Since then, she’s researched in the Library all about Metamorphmagi, any detail. Unfortunately, there isn’t much. Hermione and Eto had already ruled out if it came from her blood, as the Metamorphmagi trait is hereditary.

Even then it’s such a inherently rare mutation, that the few Metamorphmagi that had lived never spoke much or even wrote about their abilities. But what Hermione did find is that her abilities are tied to her emotions, much like magic in general, but it has a more physical outcome. She leans back against the chair, for once glad that it was made for winged people.

Choosing to focus on relaxing, feeling safe, she breaths in and out, and wills her wings away. She imagines having a flat back, no wings attached to her shoulder blades. Opening her eyes, she leans back against the chair, smiling when she feels no wings. Looking at her flicking tail, she repeats the process. When she opens her eyes, it’s not gone, but shorter.

“Yes!” She pumps her fists in the air, leaping up. Only for her to fall on her face. Groaning, Hermione gets to her knees holds her head in her hands. She freezes when she feels something hard growing out of her head. The clicking of distinctive high heels and that comforting scent makes her look up. Smiling, she sees Eto.

“**It looks like you’ve starting to understand yourself, Little Omen,**” Eto says, offering her hand. Hermione takes it, still feeling the hard texture with her other hand. Eto leads them to the middle of the Library.

“**The goat horns are new,**” Eto comments, and Hermione winces. Her tail droops in disappointment.

“**They’re weird,**” she mutters, and Eto smirks. The Veela Alfā pats the seat next to her, and Hermione sits in it. It was in this place that Eto had explained presentation more. In a normal cycle, there’re the Alpha’s; the most powerful and have the most dominant pheromones. They have a musky smell to their scent. Right after them are the Beta’s, they have second most powerful and neutral pheromones and smell like muted energy.

Last but not least are the Omega’s, they have power and submissive pheromones. They smell like heat, whatever that means. While Alpha’s are the natural leaders, they tend to lack in the emotional aspect other than aggression. Omega’s, however, balance them with their stronger minds, and the Beta’s are the middle ground between the two.

But then Eto went on to describe the special cycle, where the presentations mutate to make an über-upgraded Alpha, or Beta. An Āfla is born to rule, period. Since they don’t have the musk-like scent, it’s hard to tell them apart from a powerful Alpha. Gamma’s are special in their connection to the world, they see things others don’t. And unlike any other presentation, they smell exactly what their surroundings do.

Then there’re the Delta’s, those born from magic but have none and no pheromones. She also called them Squibs, and they smell dry. Lastly are the Epsilon’s, the Muggles, who now to Hermione, will smell toxic.

Two House-Elves appear suddenly, a startled looking young woman between them. It brings Hermione to the present.

“Thank you Un,” Eto drawls, dismissing her Elf. He bows before popping away. Cobra scampers over to her side, standing proudly by her legs. Hermione looks up at the young woman, studying her. She’s obviously not a Veela. Bright bubblegum hair spikes out around her heart-shaped face, the woman is wearing an odd combination of striped and colorful robes.

The woman blinks, looking around herself in awe.

“Auror Trainee Tonkz,” Eto says, and Hermione narrows her eyes at the Metamorphmagus witch. The Beta in question looks at them warily.

“That’s me,” She says in a British accent. Eto stands, and Tonks’ eyes widen at Eto’s height.

“You are a Metamorphmaguz, are you not?” Tonks nods at the question.

“Prove it,” Eto orders lazily, and Tonks narrows her eyes. Taking a breath, the witch turns her mouth into a duck’s bill. Hermione sits forwards, her hands still holding her head. Tonks looks at her, her eyes flicking to the goat horns and lion tail. Eto stalks towards Tonks, the Beta surprisingly not stepping backwards.

“You will teach my daughter to control her ability,” Eto breaths, leaving an unknown threat off to hang in the air. Hermione freezes at the word ‘daughter’. It makes sense; Eto’s blood runs in her own; claiming her of so perfectly. Tonks swallows, her eyes flicking back to Hermione.

“You can’t train someone to have—”

“Did I ztutter?” Eto interrupts softly, and Hermione can see the soft blue glow of Eto’s eye on Tonks’ face. The Beta woman gulps, and takes a step backwards.

“Sure thing, I’ll try,”

“Good, _Nymphadora._” Eto drawls, and Tonks cringes at the sound of her first name.

“Cobra, ztay,” Eto orders, then stalks away. Hermione turns to look at Tonks, both of them awkwardly not saying anything.

“You can sit down,” Hermione says, and Tonks breaks out in a relieved smile.

“Oh thank Merlin! I was really worried that you didn’t speak any English—I’m Tonks by the way, what’s your name?” The Beta woman says in one breath, sitting in the chair across from Hermione.

“Hermione,” she answers.

“Merlin is real?”

Tonks snorts.

“Of course he was! The most powerful Alpha wizard ever in his day; he’s really famous for defeating the dark Alpha witch Morgana!” Tonks exclaims, and Hermione nods, knowing the stories of King Arthur and his killer, Mordred. Though she’s curious about the presentations Tonks’ tacks on.

“What about . . . Epsilon King Arthur?” She asks.

“Oh him? He’s probably the only Muggle whose accepted in the Wizarding society,” Tonks shrugs.

“Why?” Tonks looks down at her curiously.

“Well, he was friends with Merlin, I suppose that’s why,” Hermione scowls.

“What about Morgana?”

“Huh?”

“Wasn’t she King Arthur’s half sister?”

“Uh, I think? History of Magic wasn’t my best class,” Tonks scratches her head. Hermione nods slowly.

“What do you think about when you transform yourself?” Hermione asks, changing the subject. Tonks looks contemplative.

“Well, it’s that you don’t have to _think_ about it, it just happens,” Hermione frowns at the vague answer, and Tonks smiles at her.

“See! You hair just turned green!” Hermione looks up startled, seeing indeed that it was the truth.

“How do you control it?” Hermione presses, and Tonks just shrugs.

“I don’t fight it, it’s easier in the long run,” Tonks looks at Hermione’s goat horns.

“Although I suppose I could teach you some meditation skills my Mum tried to teach me,” Hermione nods, and they go through the meditations. During one of them, Hermione’s tail disappears.

* * *

Living with Tonks is interesting. Eto apparently kidnapped her when the Beta was on her break, and confined her to the Pole Wing. The Mendonica Palace keeps the Metamorphmagus from going anywhere else. Her presence also means no more city walks for the time being.

So Hermione retreats to the Library. This time in the Moon Wing, she’s walking through the aisles. Her fingers pause on a rough nook. She looks into the nook, seeing a worn, thick book lying on it’s side. Takeing it out, Hermione sits on the floor, leaning against the shelves.

It’s red leather, cracked and it’s pages yellow with age. There’s no title, only the name, ‘_Maddar .M’_, signed in jerky, slashing script on the bottom cover unevenly. Opening the book carefully, she looks at the chicken scrawl, the cursive words so slanted and packed together that the words seem to blur.

Blinking, Hermione stares harder, and the ancient French text becomes somewhat legible. This Maddar character wrote with a hard hand, and with an equally hard, crass, and descriptive language. Hermione flips to the first page, realizing it’s a journal of sorts.

** _I can not believe those Magickals, the way they turn their noses at us while they live in the dirt and scrounge in it like the thieving rats they are!_ **

** _I crushed one of their skulls, it was nice._ **

** _I hope they burn in the ley lines they ‘discovered’!_ **

** _Stupid things thinking they are superior to us!_ **

** _The nerve of the bastards!_ **

** _I ought to slaughter a few of their fucking weak Alphas!_ **

** _I know the others would gladly put those Magickals in their place!_ **

** _. . ._ **

** _I hunted when I felt Magick bloom, and found four Magicakal chicks._ **

** _They annoy me._ **

** _Another came, this oneworries me, I and every Magical felt that clearly._ **

** _This one I saw . . ._ **

** _When it’s mother left the their ruck of a roost, I looked into eyes._ **

** _They burned me._ **

** _I shall never forget them, I left that ruck, leaving those demon eyes._ **


	7. Really A Filler To Get Things Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hhmm . . . Just WHO is this Maddar .M?

The entry ends there. Hermione turns another page, the snippet of someone else’s life story pulling her in. She doesn’t notice her hair turning red. The ‘dates’ here are just how many days after since the previous entry. Five days later, Maddar writes:

** _Five sunrises—_ **

** _Fucking damn it!_ **

** _I should of killed that one when I had the chance!_ **

** _It’s power is greater than any other original Magickal!_ **

** _Slimly hereditary Magickals with more power than the thieves!_ **

** _To make matters worse, the Assembly blame me—ME—for not putting down the worm—and now I am the one tasked to keep an eye on it!_ **

** _. . ._ **

** _It’s really boring._ **

** _I hate it!_ **

** _Somehow, the fucking Magickal found the attention of an Epsilon!_ **

** _The Epsilon seems to be collecting powerful Magickals, he already has one._ **

** _I think he may is being rutted by the Magickal._ **

** _Disgusting pigs._ **

** _Now I am stuck monitoring a fucking Epsilon structure._ **

** _Even their name Pendragon makes me want to kill them._ **

Hermione’s eyes widen when she sits back. She looks down at the priceless diary in her hands. Hermione carefully flips through the book, trying to find another name to prove. It’s only near the end, where she finds a one.

** _Three sunrises —_ **

** _Delacour said I am growing soft._ **

** _ME?!_ **

** _I beat her up for that, but she was right._ **

** _Moggy has grown on me in ways I can not and will not say._ **

** _She’s starting that Rozanica damned school, where I know she shall find her love._ **

** _FILTHY DIRTY RAT THAT DARES CLAIM IT HAS POWER?!_ **

** _I know how she looks at that fucking Magickal, how it makes me want to disembowel it!_ **

** _Rip its head off as I shove its beating heart up its ass!_ **

** _. . ._ **

** _But I can not._ **

** _Moggy loves him, not me._ **

** _Bastard._ **

** _Delacour said she’d kill him if I didn’t._ **

** _She doesn’t know shit._ **

** _The only thing I can give is a little thing to remind her of me._ **

** _I think she liked it._ **

** _She should._ **

** _I owe Delacour for finding that fucking gem._ **

Hermione shuts the book when she smells Juin entering the library. Putting the diary back in it’s nook, she walks to the balcony looking over the middle of the place. Juin settles on a couch, sighing. Hermione jumps off the balcony, her morphing her wings out. They flare out instantly, slowing her fall to a gentle descent.

Landing, she folds her wings, morphing them away. Walking towards Juin, she settles on a couch next to the Veela woman.

“**Hey June, what does Eto for her job?**” Hermione asks, and Juin throws an arm over her eyes.

“**She’s the Madame of the Mendonica French Cadre,**” she says.

“**What does that _mean_ though? Other than her ruling all the Mendonicas,**” Juin groans, annoyed.

“**It means that Mother goes wherever her position takes her, she has more pressing responsibilities to uphold on top of being our House’s leader, and a member of the Council.**”

“**Is the Council the magical government?**” Hermione asks, interested. Juin takes a deep breath, already tired with Hermione. She knows that she has to tread lightly, she’s already intruding on the woman’s down time. The Alpha apparently has a short fuse for anyone except her Mate, sister, and children.

“**The Council is the government for _Veela_. She didn’t tell you any of this?**” Juin snarks. For once, Hermione’s glad she never begged her parents for another sibling. A gut wrenching pain follows those thoughts, and she pushes them away. She’ll never take back that hollowness for as long she lives.

“**No, actually, I think she wanted you to be the mature one for once and tell me this yourself,**” Hermione snarks back, Juin lifting her arm to raise an eyebrow at her. Hermione’s hair chooses that moment to turn neon pink.

“**The Council is made up of all the Veelas, each country having at least three Madames, at most five. Mother is one of the three for France.**”

Hermione nods, letting all the information sink in.

“**One of the main parts of her job is upholding the Presentation Laws. And before you ask, I’ll tell you,**” Juin says, raising a hand to stop Hermione’s question.

“**‘_First_****_ Law: all Presentaions must be registered.’_**

** _‘Second Law: Alphas dominant all Presentations.’_ **

** _‘Third Law: Gammas must serve directly under an Alpha or Beta.’_ **

** _‘Fourth Law: Betas guide all Presentations, except Deltas.’_ **

** _‘Fifth Law: Omegas and Gammas must be tagged.’_ **

** _‘Sixth Law: Omegas must serve for the greater community, except Deltas.’_ **

**_‘Seventh Law: Omegas in heat must be on suppressants_****_,_’**” Juin pauses, staring hard at Hermione.

“**Course there’re some exceptions, for minors and education and the like.She really should of told you all of this,**” she mutters. Hermione tilts her head curiously at that comment. Juin stands up, eyeing Hermione with a indiscernible look.

“**Legally and physically, you’re a Veela now, which means you’re going to have to know what it means to be one,**” Juin’s words ring with a finality, and she turns, leaving the Library.

* * *

Hermione sits on the edge of her bed, Claire sitting next to her, Annie leaning against her one of her four bed posts, and Abby lies on her carpeted floor. Eto had to finally return Tonks, only with the promise to keep quiet about Hermione.

“**How much older are you than these two?**” Hermione asks. Abby stretches, looking smugly at the twins.

“**Three years older. I’m thirteen.**”

“**And you just love to hold it over us, don’t you, Tomact?**” Annie snaps, but the Alpha’s bite doesn’t seem harsh. Hermione can sense a comradery between the three Veela girls. Her eyes flick over Abby’s new clothes.

“**You go to Beauxbatons too?**” Hermione asks.

“**Third Year,**” Abby says. There’s a beat of silence, when Claire groans, flopping herself down on the bed.

“**Abby-Baby is from the disowned side of the family, as you know,**” Claire sighs, and Abby stiffens, looking over at Hermione as if daring her to judge.

“**No matter what Eto says, you’re family to me, Abby,**” she says, realizing the truth behind her words. She’s never felt more at ease with herself than now. At this, the Omega smiles, standing up to give Hermione a hug.

“**Why are you three still here? Cobra said you have to go back to Beauxbatons today,**” all three older girls turning to her with shocked expressions. Hermione scrounges up her face.

“**What?**”

“**How could you forget your own birthday?**” Abby exclaims.

“**Terrible, the life of a youth,**” Annie pretends to fan herself.

“**Adolescence, how I miss it,**” Claire swoons against Annie.

“**Oh please, you’re not that old.**”

The three of them gasp, sighing dramatically which makes Hermione roll her eyes.

* * *

In the Moon Wing’s Dinging hall, Hermione is greeted by the whole family. Souci and Juin sit next to each other, their partners on either side of them, Eto at the head of the table, and Hermione, Abby, Annie, and Claire on the other side.

“Come on Maman [Mother], it’s not everyday you turn eight you know,” Claire says, she and Annie flanking her. Hermione sighs, but goes along with it. Throughout the night, Hermione gets a better insight into the family dynamics. Apparently Veela’s celebrate birthdays with sentimental gifts, meaning not that many material objects.

At the end of the meal, she pulled Elise aside. At her question about the nature of presents, Elise blushes.

“In Veela culture, you don’t get presents for your birthday until you start, uh, menstruation,” Elise looks awkward about the topic, but it somewhat makes sense to Hermione. She’s not squeamish about that, it’s a part of growth.

“But you do get presents for Yule, that’s the older word for Christmas,” Elise says in parting. That night, Eto carries her as they go on a high fly by around the Colligation. The Veela Alfā tells Hermione point blank that she can’t fly at this altitude yet, since Hermione’s wings still aren’t strong enough. And since the Colligation looks like the size of a pizza, Hermione agrees.

It is during the flight that it strikes her how intriguing time flies, having spent a whole year as a Mendonica. Although what troubles her are the matters of the girls’ schooling, and now about her own. When she comments on it, Eto reassures her that their teachers have been sending their schooling to the Palace.

“**But if the house moves with the city, how can the mail get here?**” Hermione asks, confused. Eto smiles at this.

“**There is a Dead Drop keyed for Mendonica mail. It’s linked to the Palace so a House-Elf is alerted when mail comes,**” Eto says, and Hermione nods. Eto finally finishes her circling, landing on Hermione’s own balcony. The Veela Alfā smiles, and unclasps a necklace from her own neck.

In the darkness, Hermione can’t see it well, but she feels the cold metal when Eto clasps it around her neck.

“**Happy eighth birthday, Hermione,**” She smiles, and takes off. Raising a hand against the buffeting wind, she opens the glass doors into her room. And sighs. Hermione’s bed is taken over by Abby, Annie, and Claire. Getting ready for bed, the new eight year old climbs over the others to find her own space under the covers.

Once she’s situated, she grunts when she feels the other girls shift over to pile on top of her. They started doing this when they realized Hermione didn’t really care enough to push them out. Or in reality that she didn’t have the physical strength to.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione wakes up to a soft sunlight on her face. Struggling to claw her way out from under the sleeping pile. Sliding out, Hermione stands up, brushing herself off. She left the balcony curtains open. Yawning, she hears the tinkle of metal on metal. Looking down at the necklace, she holds it up to the light.

It’s a small plate of polished metal attached to a simple, silver chain. The metal is silver too, and it looks similar to a blank dog tag-like necklace. Hermione flips it over, feeling the smooth surface. Going on a whim, she focuses her magic, willing it to run over the silver. The surface ripples, and the etched words appear.

_Veritas Sine Timore_

[_Truth Without Fear_]

The Mendonica Motto. Hermione’s seen it on all the entrances to the Library. Turning it over again, she reads the finer engraved writing.

** _Je parle contre les mensonges de ceux qui cherchent à me supprimer et à supprimer les miens ~ Madisntic Mendonica_ **

[_I speak against the lies of those seeking to suppress me and mine ~ Madisntic Mendonica_]

Hermione runs her finger along the aggressive script, recognizing from Maddar .M’s diary. Slowly, she puts on her most ancient ancestor’s necklace.

* * *

For the after party idea, and also so Elise could visit her home country again, the Beta manages to convince Hermione to go back to England. They take a horrible thing called a Portkey, appearing on a hill. The fresh air of the high hills hits Hermione like a bath balm. Somehow, she lands on her feet, even though her stomach threatens to come out.

The other reason for the visit was for Hermione to be introduced to Elise’s old Quidditch team. In a twist of severe misunderstanding, the entirely female Alpha and Beta team of the Holyhead Harpies think Hermione’s is Elise’s daughter. Hermione leaves Elise to correct them, as she meets the children.

She knows she’s not good with letting other children in, her childhood is a testament to that, but these three kids . . . They make it harder. She’s introduced to the two Alpha siblings, Peter and Roseanne Silverthorn, and the Omega Taziah Roani. They remind her of the kids back before That Night.

She winces as a flash of pain sparks at that. She’s told by Elise, that the children call themselves the Pufflings. At her expression, Elise laughs.

“Yeah, it’s an interesting name. They _are_ only a year younger than you are, I think Peter’s seven, and Roseanne and Taziah are six,” Elise says. So Hermione spends the rest of the afternoon with the Holyhead Harpies, finding herself exasperated with the Puffling’s antics. Sure she may be around their age, but she doesn’t have to act like it.

At the end of day, all twelve of them take a group photo, the seven players signing it. When Elise warns they’re leaving in five minutes, Hermione’s arms are suddenly held by the Pufflings.

“Aw! Don’t go Alpha!” Peter whines, leaning on her.

“Yeah! You’re so cool and you know so much!” Roseanne says. Hermione supposes the Alpha girl earns brownie points for wanting to learn more.

“Stay, please?” Taziah blinks up at her, making her eyes wide.

“I’m sure I’ll come back around,” Hermione says, prying herself loose. She’s glad that she’s a lot taller than she was. For some reason the other adults think they’re playing a game, and Elise pulls Hermione away.

“Time to go!” Elise says cheerfully, and they take the Portkey back to the Dead Drop.

* * *

A month passes, and Hermione finally gathers up her courage and asks Eto if they can fly outside. Eto gives her a once over.

“**Have you mastered morphing your wings?**” She asks. Hermione smiles, and her wings appear. They slide through the slits in her shirt, carefully placed so that her wings will never rip her clothes when they come out. Eto circles her, prodding her wings.

“**I suppose we can give it a try,**” she drawls, and strides towards a railingness balcony. Pushing it open, the large white wings burst from Eto’s shoulders. Her shirt is likewise slashed where her wings emerge. Holding out her hand, Hermione takes it. The winds whip at their clothes unusually fierce, and Hermione shivers.

Eto leads them to the edge, their wings rustling.

“**I’ve seen you flap around the Palace, gliding, but that is nothing compared to real flying. Where the winds rule and you are merely a careful passenger,**” Eto says, her voice cutting through the winds.

“**Do youknow how birds learn to fly?**” Eto asks.

“**The mothers kick them out of the nest,**” Hermione answers.

“**All fledglings must learn to fly on their own,**” Eto muses, pushing Hermione off the balcony.


	8. Soul Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione discovers her inner beast!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, the Ancient Chimoretis is not a real mythical creature,
> 
> It's my version of the prehistoric ancestor of Chimeras and Manticores.

Hermione doesn’t have the breath to scream as the winds tear at her wings, threatening to tear them out of her shoulder blades. The city grows closer and closer, Hermione struggling to straighten herself. This is different from her fall with Abby. Then, there were no winds, but today, the air is full of them.

Clenching her eyes shut, she forces her wings open, her body stretching as she levels out at the last moment. Zooming over the city, Hermione dodges between buildings as she slowly gets lower and lower towards the ground. Flying into a long street, she sees blurs of an open market.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione angles her head up, her wings following. The winds instantly are cupped in her feathers, halting her breakneck pace. Merely inches in front of her eyes, she skims the surface of something. As she soars higher, her shoe clips the statue, sending her spiraling into the air.

Trying to straighten herself, an angel soars next to her, her wing flicking Hermione’s. It balances herself, and she looks at Eto, elegantly circling her. They’re a little above the average rooftop level. Her hair turns black.

“**Not bad, now follow as I do,**” Eto orders, not sparing Hermione another glance as she takes off. Hermione closes her eyes, clearing away her dizziness, then hurriedly flaps after the Veela Alfā. She has to press herself a little to catch up, and even then she sees Eto’s simply gliding. Taking a breath, she mimicking the Eto’s wing movements.

Raising them, Eto pumps down, soaring higher. Flapping harder, Hermione rises, flapping ungainly after Eto. Panting, Hermione struggles to keep up with Eto’s speed.

“**Stop looking at me and look at the city,**” Eto’s drawls, and Hermione wrenches her eyes away. Looking down, Hermione tries to focus on the city while flying. But something catches her eye, a pair of young girls flying close to the ground. A hand grabs hers, and she’s yanked to the side, dodging a tower.

Yelping, Hermione looks at Eto gratefully, but the woman just raises an eyebrow.

“**Never forget your surroundings,**” Hermione nods, pushing orange hair out of the way. Eto turns her head, banking to the side. Hermione takes a breath, and angles her wings, leaning to the side. It works better than Hermione thought it would. A smile starts to break out across her face, as she falls in next to Eto again.

They easily circle around the large city, Hermione relaxing enough to pay attention to the life around them. Even her hair fades to it’s Mendonica color. There are hundreds if not thousands of Veelas in this valley, all coming from different Cadre’s, so Eto says.

“**How many Cadres are there?**” Hermione asks, finally comfortable with speaking while flying.

“**Sixteen. Although the Asian, European, and African Cadres are the general names for the Cadres that make them up,**” Eto replies lazily, the rays of sunset starting to play across her skin. Hermione didn’t realize the time went by so fast.

“**Dinner time. Fly harder now,**” Eto banks sharply to the left, leaving Hermione to scramble to copy her. Following in Eto’s wake, Hermione is gasping for breath as she struggles to fly after Eto to their ledge. Eto lands gracefully, while Hermione barely makes it onto the balcony, holding onto the edge.

Struggling to swing her leg over, Eto grabs her by her arm, hoisting her back into the Mendonica Palace. From then on, Eto always waits for her to get ready for bed, and then, under the stars, she sings Hermione to sleep.

* * *

A month passes by, and Hermione’s favorite part of the day is when she flies with her family. The twins and Abby have long since gone back to Beauxbatons, and even though she’s now eligible for the preliminaries, Eto doesn’t enroll her. Instead, she takes Hermione on their walks, and now, new lessons.

Following the Veela Alfā into the Dining Hall, Hermione observes that the long table that usually occupies the space is gone.

»When the Hall is like so, we shall speak in Velian. Understood?« Eto asks, turning to face her.

»Yes,« Hermione replies, still cognitively unsure how to speak the mental language, but instinctively she does. Her tailbone itches, and she pushes her skirt down at little, a short goat’s tail popping out from under the waistband.

»While the Colligation is just one of many Veela cities, it is the most traditional,« Eto lectures, and produces a coiled rope in her hands. Motioning Hermione to the wall, she hurries to obey.

_CRACK!_

Hermione flinches involuntarily. Her eyes are wide as she stares at Eto, the coiled rope in actuality a whip. A silvery thing that hovers when still, swaying gently.

»_Le Phoque_ [_The Seal_] is not just a weapon. It is an extension of a Veela’s will,« Eto continues, and flicks her wrist. The whip rears back on it’s own, and—

_CRACK! CRACK!_

It flying about like water, striking the air in swift, sharp lashes.

»To master _Le Phoque_ [_The Seal_], a Veela must first master her will,« Eto says, and pivots on her heel.

_CRACK!_

Hermione doesn’t flinch. _Le Phoque_ [_The Seal_] is grace, arcing through the air, whistling as it does.

»Even though it’s body is that of a great whip, it can do so much more,« Eto spins her wrist lazily. _**Le Phoque**_ [_The Seal_] jerks forwards, coiling around a column of air, then cinches tight. Hermione knows what that would do to a person. Eto turns to her, and the weapon coils itself back up nice and neatly.

»You will be able to do that in time, but for now, let it feel your will,« Beckoning Hermione from the wall, Eto lets her hold it. It does feel like cold water, and the coils vibrate in her hands.

»On an Epislon, it merely is their pain, on a Magical, it blocks the magical channels, but on a Veela,« Eto’s eye burns brighter now.

»It seals their Veela inside their own skin, unable to break free.«

* * *

Eto doesn’t let her practice with **_Le Phoque_** [_The Seal_] unless she’s there, and Hermione’s a little grateful for it. The bloody thing has tried to strangle her a few times. Eto’s also added something new after her morning lesson with that blasted-will-strangling whip. In the Pole Hall, Hermione meets her new language teachers.

All fifteen of them, since she already knows French. However, Hermione’s always been one for a challenge, and she throws herself into her studies. Apparently Souci and Juin have already learned them. Tonks is even brought back every while or so to help her keep her Metamorphmagus abilities.

As time passes, Hermione and Eto grow closer with their nightly flights, and learning about being a Veela. In the afternoon of her ninth birthday; a sacred Veela number; Eto takes Hermione to go see the French Ministry to see the family records. And also get Hermione out of the Mendonica Palace, which has developed a deep attachment to her and her needs.

Having only seen Tonks and Elise, seeing prim and proper, and not to mention slightly alluring French Wizarding people is a curious sight. When they arrive backat the Mendonica Palace, Cobra frantically informs them that Annie and Claire have painted her room black.

* * *

A couple of months go by, Hermione progressing greatly in her learning, when Eto takes Hermione to the Dining Hall. Confused but intrigued, Hermione obeys Eto when she positions her in the centre of the huge rectangle room.

»Eto?« She asks, feeling more confident in the Veela language now than a year ago.

»It is rumored, that very Metamorphmagus has a central creature in their souls, something with the greatest affinity to them,«

»You want to know mine.«

»No, I want _you_ to unleash yours,« Eto corrects calmly, before she blasts Hermione off her feet with a wave of Veela magic. Eto is brutal, both in word and hand. Quick to quip out an imperfection, and even quicker to use her nails to poke and prod Hermione’s body into what Eto desires.

It’s grueling, often leaving Hermione in a permanent state of irritation, her magic and body drained during her other lessons. The House-Elves replace a lot of furniture those stressful six months. Finally, Hermione snaps, lashing out at Eto, the Veela Alfā casually dismissing the magic with a flick of her fingers. Hermione snarls, but restrains herself.

»Absolutely not,« Eto waves her hand, and Hermione goes flying. Slamming against the ground, the breath is knocked out of her. Eto’s magic picks Hermione up again, throwing her up into the air, then throwing her against another wall. Crying out, she drops to the floor, grunting as she lands. Suddenly an invisible weight appears on top of her, crushing her.

Screams pour out as she struggles in vain to escape. Her body groans, her bones creaking as her magic starts to leak out uncontrollably. Her screams go up an octave when a crack sounds in her chest. Hermione feels it burn, the heat spreading out throughout her body. Her screams turns into a howl, and her skin bursts.

* * *

She lands on all fours, a echoing _roar_ of a beast shaking the Mendonica Palace. She’s huge, bigger than an elephant, her mind adjusting to having four different brains linked together. Her lion head in the middle roars again, the goat head on the left side bleats, and the dragon’s head on the right lets out a piercing screech.

Hissing from her living snake tail makes her front three heads look behind herself.The long snake blinks. Hermione feels weird that she can see herself facing herself. Even that sentence makes her brains twinge. From her snake head’s view, she sees that her front half of her body that of a lion’s, her back half a goat’s.

The fur at the base of her rear is where her snake head is attached to gradually turns to scales. Hermione can feel the familiar tugging along her shoulder blades down her back brings joy to all of her minds. She can also see her wings. They’re basically the same as before, only this time twice the length of her new body.

Likewise, her fur is a mix of onyx black and blood green, with an vicious looking raging amber underlay, creating a rippling sheen of the color. With dark-gold eyes, her lion head has a ridge of fur running the opposite way of the rest starting between her shoulders, making the already dark colors seem completely void black.

The ridge itself the biggest on the back of her skull, and the smallest down the middle of her face to the tip of her nose. The goat head’s horns are a double set, curving wickedly around the shape of her head, and the back set jutting up in deadly points. The horns accent her cross-pupil green eyes. It also has a mane, albeit longer, sticking straight up and slightly to one side.

The mane follows her neck down to meet the ridge from her lion head. Hermione’s dragon head is all scales, hard and powerful. Large multi-shaped purple eyes are framed with a row of overlapping spikes starting in the middle of her forehead down to meet with the other two. Scales flow down her chest and along her stomach to meet with her snake head’s scales.

The scales merge with the fur in a gradient, merging nicely. With her front three heads, she can see her snake head. It’s huge, slim and diamond like, bright red shades eyes staring at her. Atop her snake head, three sets of white horns curving forwards, upwards. All four of her heads close their eyes, and she listens to her new body, feeling it out. She feels like power, taunt and ready spring forth.

She hears a russle, Hermione looks up at the Veela Alfā in front of her, it is radiating power. She raises its hand, as if to touch Hermione. Her dragon head snaps its jaws at the limb, but the Veela Alfā merely bares its teeth in a strange way. A spark clicks in her minds, and Hermione falters. She blinks, her heads shaking.

»An Ancient Chimoretis,« Hermione hears Eto whisper. Wincing, Hermione keens, and collapses slowly.

* * *

Hermione’s previous barrier broken, she embraces her newfound control, morphing into her Ancient Chimoretis form constantly. The Mendonica Palace helpfully enlarges her room on the inside, and the halls so as to allow her to romp around the Palace in her soul form. Oddly enough, her soul form discovery has vastly improved her Metamorphmagus ability.

She and Cobra figure out that Hermione can now morph into other forms as well, any to suit her fancy, though the easiest are creatures of the same species of her four animal segments. Her tenth birthday flies by, and soon it’s her eleventh birthday. Hermione bounds into the Dining Hall in her soul form, smiling with all her heads when she sees Annie, Claire, and Abby.

As soon as Hermione made her first transformation, she showed the Veela girls as soon as they visited the Palace. They stood in awe as they looked up at Hermione’s soul form, and the dynamic between the four of them changed. Hermione had earned their inner Veela’s respect and allegiance, transcending familial bonds.

“**Hermione! You’re so cute!**” Claire jumps up, racing to her goat head. The Beta leans her whole body against Hermione, wrapping her in a big hug. She doesn’t even feel Claire’s weight. Annie’s strokes her snake head. The Veela girls are here without their parents, since they prefer to spend more time with Hermione than at their own homes.

Abby pats her lion head.

“**Not at the table,**” Eto sighs, and Hermione morphs back into her regular form. Wincing, she shuts her eyes, letting her brain reroute itself back to one mind. She clings to her necklace to ground herself. Opening her eyes, she feels Claire’s arms around her.

“**Are you alright, Aunty?**” Clair coos, and Hermione rolls her eyes. The twins guide her to the table, sitting next to her. Abby places a plate in front of her, and Hermione begins to devour the meal. As a side effect of unlocking her soul form, Hermione feels the constant hunger of an adolescent Ancient Chimoretis.

There’s a pop next to her, Cobra appearing with a letter in his hands.

“**It’s for Young Mistress!**” He squeaks.


	9. Hogwarts Accepts You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets one of the most awaited letter of her life!

Eto looks up, her eye watching Hermione carefully. The Veela girls lean in to look at it. The letter is made from yellowish parchment, old, and thick. On one side, in emerald-green script, is the address.

_Miss. H. Mendonica_

_Room Unplottable_

_Street Unplottable_

_Village Unplottable_

_Northern Russian Forest_

Turning the letter over, Hermione feels the purple wax seal, its coat of arms a lion, eagle, badger, and a snake surrounding the letter ‘H’.

“**This the Hogwarts seal,**” Annie mutters.

“**Wait—Hermione’s going to Hogwarts?**” Abby says confused. Hermione opens the letter.

≠ HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALPHA ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Surpeme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards_)

Dear Miss. Mendonica,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

_Beta Minerva McGonagall_

Beta Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_ ≠

Hermione looks at the attached list.

≠ UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil’s clothes should carry names tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Beta Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_ by Alpha Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory_ by Alpha Adalbert Waffling

_A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration_ by Alpha Emeric Switch

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Beta Phyllida Spore

_Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Beta Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Beta Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Alpha Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set of brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS ≠

Hermione lies the parchment on the table, and looks up to Eto, whose eye has not left Hermione. The Veela girls are wisely silent.

“**I want to go,**” she says, and the twins go still, their eyes flicking towards Eto.

“**Be wary of the Wizarding people, they are a full of corruption and prejudice,**” Eto warns, and Abby nods. Eto pauses, but now Hermione knows why she never went to Beauxbatons.

“**I give you my blessing to go with all the strength of the highwinds behind you,**” Hermione breaks out in a smile, and Eto smirks back.

“**When can we go to the Hidden Place?**” Hermione asks.

* * *

The **Place Cachée** [Hidden Place] is truly a wonderful place. Located at the junction of Boulevard Voltaire and Rue Richer, in Paris France, is a bronze statue of a woman. Eto easily uses her magic to discombobulate the Epsilon guard, and the bronze statue sweeps her robes out of the way. Then they’re in.

It’s a kilometer long street with incredible shops along the sides. Everything is bright, the scents are vibrant, the cobblestone street is wide for many Wizarding people to traverse, and there’s so much magic. There are three Alleys that branch off of the main street; **Allée de Métal** [Metal Alley], **Allée de Terre** [Earth Alley], and **Allée Noire** [Black Alley].

Hermione glances at Eto out of the corner of her eye when they step through, and she startles. Eto’s signature half mask that Hermione’s grown to associate and accept with her adoptive mother is gone, revealing flawless skin and another working blue eye.

»A simple _Concealment Charm_, the mask is still there,« Eto says in Velian, and Hermione snaps her gaze back to the road in front of them. It’s the first time Eto has to physically keep a hold on Hermione in order to buy her supplies in a timely fashion. At the end of the trip—which was too short in Hermione’s opinion—she’s now the proud owner of a gold cauldron size four, a set of diamond phials, a collapsible silver telescope, silver scales, and dragonhide gloves.

The only thing she’s missing is a Familiar and a wand.

“**The Wizarding people claim the best wandmakers in Europe would be the Ollivander’s, but the Gregorovitch’s used to make the most powerful,**” Eto says, fingering her own wand. She snaps her fingers, and Un and Cobra appear, taking Hermione’s bag of school things. With a low bow, they disappear.

Eto grips her tight, and tells Hermione to let out her breath. The second she does, they Side-Apparate into a dingy alley. Shutting her eyes tight, Hermione forces her mind to focus not on the distasteful lingering sensation, but of London. The air less clear than in France, and it looks like they’re in a run down courtyard behind a dingy pub.

“**Where are we?**” Hermione asks, watching Eto touch a series of blocks, three up, two across.

“**The Leaky Cauldron, the entrance to Diagon Alley,**” Eto says curtly. The brinks pull apart to form an arch, revealing the English Magical alley. They both have disgruntled looks on their faces as they walk through. It’s a lot more crowded, with uneven cobblestone, and lacks the cleanliness and vibrance the **Place Cachée** [Hidden Place] brings. There’re so many scents, each trying to battle for dominance.

Hermione casts her eye around, staring hard at those who stare at them. They walk towards the wand store, weaving through the crowds easily, until they slip through the shop door. Hermione glances at the old and rusty letters adorning the top of the wooden doorframe: ≠ Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c. ≠

She around at the mess of slim boxes filling every corner all the up to the ceiling. Hermione keeps close to Eto, and an old wizard suddenly appears in front of them. She jerks, holding back her hiss of surprise. She never even smelled him there! The current Ollivander comes forwards, his long white hair light and wavy. He smells like the wands and wood dust around him.

“Hermione, thiz iz Gamma Mr. Ollivander,” Eto murmurs, the wizard sticking out his hand. Hermione takes it. Now she understands why she didn’t smell him.

“Good morning,” he says in a soft, reedy voice, his silvery eyes seeing more than what Hermione can. He looks her over, her left hand in his, and Hermione feels uncomfortable.

“Right handed . . . Ah, I see, let me check in the back,” he says, a tape measure starting to measure her body parts. Eto’s eye—no eyes—look around at the stacks of wands. Hermione tilts her head when Mr. Ollivander comes back with a pile of boxes. He opens one, gesturing for Hermione to take the wand.

As soon as she holds it, he snatches it rudely from her, muttering. This happens on the next wand, and the next, and the next. Instead of getting frustrated, Mr. Ollivander seems to get more excited, making Hermione think he’s sniffed one too many wand shaving dust. Eto adopts a more intrigued look.

Then Mr.Ollivander comes forwards with a long slim box. This one the wizard carries like he’s handing over the scales and feathers of his ancestors. Interest piked, Hermione watches as he opens it. Inside is a mangled looking wand. Hermione takes a step forwards, feeling it calling to her.

It’s made of two types of woods; one deathly white, and one warm brown; both entwined around each other in a tight, gnarled spiral. The spiral tapers off to a sharp point, and the hilt has been tempered into a smooth, cylindrical wood. At the butt of the wand, a wicked looking metal hook has been slotted in.

Picking it up, she feels power rush through her. Mr. Ollivander smiles weakly, his eyes fixed on it intently.

“Dezcribe it,” Eto whispers, her eyes fixed on Hermione and the power filling the room. Mr. Ollivander swallows and licks his lips nervously..

“A-ah yes, um, yew and vine wood welded together with a dragon heartstring core. Thirty-two-point-seven-hundred-sixty-six centimeters long, very unyielding, highly unpredictable, and powerful. Very powerful.

“It will take a strong will to master this wand, but once you do, it has a un-shattering loyalty. It has power, great power, lethal to its enemies, vindictive to those who slight it, a very dangerous combination, I must warn you,” Mr. Ollivander spouts in a shaky rant. Hermione strokes the wand, feeling it shudder in her grasp.

Eto tilts her head, her eye looking up at Mr. Ollivander.

“Thiz doezn’t look like your work,” she comments, and the Gamma nods, wringing his hands. His eyes never leave the wand in Hermione’s hands. She pulls it close to her chest protectively.

“You are correct in that statement Madame Mendonica. This wand was a joint project between Mykew Gregorovitch and Garrick Ollivander,” he says, and Eto hums. After thanking Mr. Ollivander, the Veela Alfā pays the Gamma. Hermione and Eto leave the shop and head to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, the inside looking very busy. A young, emerald-eyed wizard storms out, scowling as he growls something that starts with a “s”.

Hermione enters further into the shop, looking at all the clothes and fabrics flying around. There’s another young wizard standing on a platform with his arms out. The Betataking measurements and stitching must be Madam Malkin. Hermione waits with Eto, when she sees a witch enter. As if feeling eyes on her, the witch turns to her.

Dark brown hair at the crown of her hair fades into silver-blond. It frames a sharp face, her ice-blue eyes staring. She’s the picture of regal beauty, and reminds Hermione of a Veela. The young wizard joins his mother, looking at Hermione curiously. When Eto turns, the witch’s eyes widen, and Hermione can smell her contained rage and fear permeating from her.

Eto looks at the Omega, and a slow, malicious smirk grows on her face. The strange woman narrows her eyes, and turns on her heel, guiding her son out. Madam Malkin comes towards Hermione, and Eto orders her clothes for her Hogwarts uniform. Eto doesn’t move away, making the nervous seamstress start to sweat.

Eto also pays extra to have the Mendonica crest sewn onto all her clothes. It’s a silver silhouette of a naked Veela, her arms out to the side, as envy green vines enwrapping her arms, her blood dripping down to the bottom, where twin black-eyed bloodred demons try to claw their way up the Veela’s legs, all on a field of black.

Once that’s done, they leave to Gringotts, Hermione looking for the silver haired Omega and her son.

* * *

They head towards a snowy white building, taller than the rest of the buildings around it. Hermione recognizes the magical creatures standing at the door. The smart looking Goblins open bronze doors, bowing them in. Hermione pauses to bow back to them, Goblin culture running through her head.

The guards smile, showing rows of sharp teeth as they let them through. They pass through the next set of doors, silver, as Hermione’s eyes flicker over the riddle engraved upon them.

≠ _Enter stranger, but take heed,_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._ ≠

Hermione chuckles once under her breath at the challenge, wondering if any has ever pull off a heist such as that. They walk up to a Goblin receptionist, his sneer dropping when he looks up, his long fingers on the edge of his podium.

“Extraction from Hermione Eto Mendonica’s Vault,” Eto says clearly, and the Goblin looks down at Hermione.

“Do you have her key, Madame?” Eto hands a small golden key over to him, the Goblin nodding to himself. He summons another Goblin, Griphook, to take them down to her Vault.

“I have a Vault?” Hermione asks as they follow the Goblin through a door, waiting for the cart to arrive.

“I opened two for you the day after I claimed you. You alzo zhare the Mendonica family Vault.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow, and they climb into the cart. It rockets off, Hermione loving the thrill that shoots straight to her stomach at the ride. All too soon it slows, Eto and Hermione jumping out, her blood pumping.

Griphook unlocks her first Vault, and Hermione asks the Goblin a question politely.

“Banker Griphook, might I ask how many Vaults are in my possession?” She asks, and the Goblin bares his teeth.

“This here,” he pushes open the doors, revealing mountains of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts filling the chamber. “Is your Trust Vault, it accumulates one-thousand Galleons per year in interest from your joint family Mendonica Vault. The last one, is your Personal Vault, in which a sum of one-hundred Galleons, eighty Sickles, and seventy-five Knuts accumulate from your Trust Vault per year,” he explains.

Hermione nods, doing the math in her head. One Galleon is the equivalent to four-hundred-ninety-three Sickles, and those are equivalent to twenty-nine Knuts, therefore four-hundred-ninety-three Knuts equal one Galleon. Riding back up, she can feel the Goblin’s black eyes on her.

At the end, Hermione gets out of the cart, she eyeing Griphook, and her magic connects to his mind.

/What rank are you so I may address you as such?/ She says, her body moving in gestures she doesn’t fully understand. Griphook’s eyes narrow.

/I am Second Warrior Crowfoot Griphook, House Mendonica’s Goblin in service to Gringotts. Tell me Broken Child, why did you learn Rinzersal?/ He replies, using his whole body to gesticulate and speak. He looks up at her with shrewd eyes.

/Second Warrior Griphook, this knowledge shall only be known to myself./

He nods, oddly proud of the answer.

— . —

Anything inside these “≠ ≠” marks are direct quotes from the books.

_Latebra_ = Concealment Charm (Latin: Concealment)


End file.
